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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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IMTKI> STATES OF AJIEUICA. 



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Foibles 




AND 



Rhymes of the Times, 



BY 

/ 



Orion T. DozieVy M. D. 



Ye critics who this book peruse, 

Aud in it find naught to commend, j') 
Please criticise as you may choose ; 

Whate'er you say will not offend. 
I'd rather have your worst abuse 

Thau milk-and-water words of praise, 
And silence would more grieve my muse 

Than all the censure you can raise. 

Nor will I bend the suppliant knee 

To plead your pardon in advance ; 
But if my imperfections be 

By you a1 tacked with spiteful lance, 
I'll promise then to write no more. 

Unless to do so I may choose, 
And then, of course, in that event, 

I'll hinder not my free-born muse. 



/ 



BIRMINGHAM, ALA.: 

Dispatch Printing Company, Printers and Binders. 

1894. 



<o1 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 
Eighteen hundred and ninety-four, 

BY 

Orion T. Dozier, 
In the office of the Librarian at Washington, D. C. 



PREFACE. 

By way of Preface in presenting this little volume to the pub- 
lic, I will state that I make no pretense or claim to literary or 
poetic ability. Nor do I expect on the issue of this book " To go to 
bed and wake to find myself famous." Neither shall I expect 
wealth and laurel crowns to follow, but intend to continue my vo- 
cation at the same old stand and still wear my same old hat. 

At the age of thirteen or fourteen years my opportunities for 
receiving an education were abridged by the breaking out of civil 
war between the States, which ended my days at school. And, when 
after four years of war, peace was declared, I, like many other sons of 
Southern men, found it more imperative to pay court at the offices 
of mammon than to worship at the shrines of Minerva and the 
Muses; and as my every day since has been devoted to a struggle 
for existence, I have had but little time for the pleasures of literary 
pursuits, and have made but little effort for excellence in compo- 
sition, but have occasionally written verses for my own pastime or 
to please some friend, and this cc ction of my writings is only of 
such as I have been able to coiled ince the burning of my scrap- 
book and manuscripts in the fire, \ lich, two years ago, destroyed 
my office. The chief incentive for puolishing the same is to gratify 
the wish of my children, who will doubtless ever be my most 
charitable critics. Regretting sincerely that my offering here is not 
of a higher standard, and trusting that it may evoke no harsher 
criticism than it deserves, I will let it go to meet its fate. 

The Author. 



DEDICATION. 



To the men whose four years' record of cour- 
ageous warfare in defense of that freedom, enun- 
ciated in the Declaration of Independence, and 
vouchsafed by the Constitution, and in defense of 
the eternal principles of Caucasian regnancy in a 
land purchased with the blood of our forefathers ; 
to the men most valiant in deed, most brilliant in 
exploit, most liberal in sacrifice, most unyielding 
and uncompromising in their fidelity to their cause 
— To the cx-soldiers of the Son them Co7ifedercy — this 
volume is dedicated with all the love and fidelity 

of the 

Author. 



INDEX. 



Frontispiece The Author 

Campaign and Patriotic. 

The Stars and Bars 1 

Our Sunny Land and Southern Dead 3 

Take Back the Lie 8 

Lines for Decoration Day 10 

Slanderers of Gordon 12 

The Death of Cheatham 15 

On the Death of Admiral Semmes 17 

Brave Nickell of Kentucky 18 

JefF. Davis 20 

The Death of Jefferson Davis 21 

Gordon 22 

Mourn, Georgia, Mourn.. 24 

Club Song, No. 1 25 

A Plea for Unity 26 

The Soldier's Grave 28 

Club Song, No. 2 29 

Our Soldiers' Graves 30 

Decoration Day 31 

A Wish \ 31 

Memorial Invocation 33 

Song and Sentiment. 

Alabama , 36 

Georgia 38 

Rizpah 40 

Cleopatra 43 

Policy 46 

The Army of Temperance 48 

The Unfortunate's Plea 51 

Not for Bread Alone 54 

The Eational of Sin 56 



Coosa River 60 

Man was Made for Woe 63 

Cupids Auction 65 

A Hunter's Wish 68 

A Woman of the Town 69 

The Wreck 71 

My Friend 73 

To-Morrow 75 

TheKight 77 

Give Me for a Friend 79 

Good-bye 80 

Waiting and Dream ing 82 

I'm in Ixjve witli Two Girls 84 

Dying Alielard 86 

Waiting and Longing 88 

A Lover's Pi(jue 89 

The Exile's Wish 91 

Woman and the Snake 92 

An P^vening Reverie 94 

Xathalitia 97 

Tlie Ciiminal's Complaint 98 

South Rome 100 

Waiting at the River 101 

Ciood-bye Song to F. L. Stanton 103 

Double Acrostic 104 

Shall I Forget 105 

Love's IMea 106 

Lines to Lula 1(>7 

Could I the Muses' Aid but Claim 108 

To Minnie 109 

Lines for an Album 110 

Life Ill 

'Tis Then I Think of You 113 

Lines Written on the Fly Ix'af of a Book 114 

My Life is Like a Ship at Sea 115 

Lines Sent with a BoU(jUi-t to Lula C 116 

To 117 

There is no (iod 118 

In Vol at Ion 119 



Could I Forget 120 

Beautiful Rome 121 

The Ballot 122 

Some Day 125 

No Compromise for Me 126 

Lines to J. L. T 128 

To Lizzie 130 

The Murdered Wife 131 

Be Careful How You Tread 132 

Infelice 133 

My Mother's Heart 134 

Time 135 

Faith 136 

I Do Not Know 137 

A Dream that was not a Dream 138 

A Sigh for the Sea 141 

Drifting Away 1 42 

In Paradise , 144 

Jack Frost 147 

Love 148 

Forget Me Not 149 

Blithesome Little Libby 150 

Lines to Dora 151 

Till I Come Back Again , 152 

Welcome Song , 154 

My Losahatchie Home 155 

The Vale of Losahatchie 157 

Hail St. Patrick's Day 159 

The Evening Prayer 161 

Our Order Here 162 

A Fragment 164 

Humor and Dialect. 

I Think I Thunk A Lie 166 

Sermon by Uncle Mose, No. 1 171 

Sermon by Uncle Mose, No. 2 174 

Speech of Uncle Mose 176 

Shams and Shacks 178 

Hurrah for the Eoad 180 

Pepper Sauce 181 



The Guitar 183 

The Diule 185 

Courage and Ambition 187 

Don't It Sorter Look That Way 189 

The (lirls of Silver Creek 191 

A Spring ("ant-Oh 195 

Uncle Mose on the Prodigal's Return 197 

Speech of Uncle Mose on Independence Day 203 

A Plea to Mayor Lane 208 

Truthful Boler's Narrow Escape 209 

A Phillipic on Exemption I^aws 212 

liooming Birmingham 213 

K ickers 216 







/•' 



CAMPAIGN 



AND 



PATRIOTIC 




THK STARS AND HARS. 



The Stars and Bars. 



The stars and bars are fallen 
And will never float again, 

But bright on history's pages 
It will live without a stain. 

For proudest recollections 
Of battles fought and won, 

And glorious deeds of valor 
By Southern patriots done, 

Will embalm in sacred memory 
That banner bright and dear, 

And sound it down the ages 
As the one without a peer. 

'Twas born of stern oppression 
And cradled in the storm. 

When retributive justice 
Rose, demanding a reform. 

And in the name of liberty, 
'Twas christened in the blood 

Of heroes and of patriots 

That flowed in crimson floods 

And thus endeared to freedom 
By every natural tie, 

(1) 



FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

Our hearts were rent with anguish 
When we saw it droop and die. 

We held it in affection 

And rejoiced to see it wave, 

We loved the men who bore it, 
For they were true and brave. 

We loved its holy cause, 

The hopes that it inspired. 
We honor every martyr 

Who 'neath its folds expired. 

We reverence too the chieftains, 
Each and every separate name. 

Who 'neath that star-wreathed banner 
Fought and won their glorious fame. 

But supported not by nations 

Who beheld it from afar, 
Alone it met the tempest 

On the fiery crest of war. 

No nation recognized it. 

No arm was stretched to save. 

But the world will ne'er forget it 
As the banner of the brave. 

liut now that flag has fallen 

And will proudly float no more, 

Our soldiers' tents are folded 
And the din of war is o'er. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 

Our cannon throats are silent, 
The sword is in its sheath, 

Our camps are all deserted 

Save the silent camps of death. 

No sentinel now on duty 

Doth freedom's watch- words tell. 
For liberty was ended 

When that glorious banner fell. 



OUR SUNNY LAND AND SOUTHERN 

DEAD. 



Fair sunny land — home of the brave 
How wondrous and supremely blest ! 
Like billows on tempestuous sea, 
Emotions rise within my breast, 
And surging with a pathos deep. 
Sweeps o'er my soul in currents grand, 
Whene'er I hear or breathe thy name, 
Sweet sunny South, my native land. 

What other land 'neath Heaven's dome 

By braver men was ever trod ? 

What other land on earth is known 

So lavishly endowed by God ? 

Where else on earth such valorous deeds. 

As by our Southern patriots done, 



FOIBLES OF FANCV AND 

And where, oh where such women true 
As here beneath our Southern sun? 

Then wake ! oh wake ! my muse awake I 
A glorious theme my soul inspires ; 
From blue empyrean heights above 
Come warm me with celestial fires. 
Attune my tongue to grandeur's strain, 
And let my words with genius blaze. 
Whilst I the glorious task essay — 
Our martyred Southern hdsts to praise. 

But no, ah no ! the plea is vain. 
No human tongue in words can frame, 
Nor wreathe in thoughts however bright^ 
The measure of their deathless fame. 
But everywhere on earth and sea, 
Where'er a patriot's heart shall beat. 
The welkin with their praise shall ring, 
Till eternity and time shall meet. 

And till some nobler muse than mine. 
Evoked by greater bard than I, 
And aided by a power divine, 
From bright supernal realms on high, 
Shall grasp the poet's flaming pen 
With superhuman force to write, 
Be mine the will tho' not the power 
Their glorious records to recite. 

And yet tho' frail and halt of speech, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 

An humble chaplet I would weave, 
To place upon our soldiers' graves, 
And grander task to others leave ; 
For well I know some noble bard, 
Some poet greater far than I, 
Shall yet arise and grandly sing. 
Of those who sleep, but cannot die. 

And till the cycling years of time, 
Have into dark oblivion rolled. 
All love of home and native land, 
Their valorous deeds will still be told ; 
And yearning youth at mother's knees 
Will, in the ages yet to be. 
By grand example of their deeds. 
Learn how to die for liberty. 

Thermopylae and Marathon 
For ages held the captive eye 
Of all who looked for honored fields. 
Where men had taught us how to die ; 
Eut now the gaze of all mankind. 
Who seek for glory's proudest shrines, 
Turns to Fort Sumpter and Bull Run, 
To Gettysburg and Seven Pines. 

Alexander and the Caesars great. 
Long held the crown of proudest fame ; 
But lusterless their crowns appear. 
Dimmed in the light of him I name — 
Of him who's hand ne'er sought to hold 



FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

The sceptre over men yet free, 
For now, fame's bri^^htest diadem, 
Beams in the crown of Robert Lee, 

Joan of Arc, the martial queen, 

Led forth her ranks in grand array. 

And carved her name on fame's proud fane 

By valorous deeds in battle fray ; 

But grander than her grandest march 

Is that bv Southern women led. 

When marching with Spring garlands bright 

To deck the graves of our dead. 

And grander than all cenotaphs 
That ever hand of human reared ; 
More brilliant than all banners dear 
Than ever on the breeze appeared ; 
More beautiful than brightest star 
That shines in vaulted dome of night 
Is that sweet homage beauty yields 
To those who fought for home and right. 

Nor will they as they come to-day, 

With evergreens and brightest blooms, 

To decorate with tender care 

Our sleeping heroes' silent tombs, 

Forget or slight those focmcn brave, 

Who proved through tlame their courage true. 

But true to Southern chivalry, 

With flowers rare their graves will strew. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 

And you, ye war-scarred remnant brave, 
Who loved the cause our Davis led, 
Will ne'er forget sweet Winnie dear 
Now that her noble sire is dead. 
But every weeping orphan's tear. 
And every widow's plaintive plea. 
Will wake a warm, responsive chord 
In every heart of Camp Hardee. 

And in that last great coming morn. 
When God shall bid all sleepers rise 
From earth and seas to camps on high. 
Joined heart and hand beyond the skies. 
In armistice of eternal peace. 
We'll bivouac amid the stars. 
And reverence through eternity, 
The stars and stripes and stars and bars. 




FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

TAKE BACK THE LIE! 



Lines suggested on reading a recent speech by General P r, 

Commander-in-Chief of the (irand Army of the Kepublic, in which 
he denounced the Southern Flag as the emblem of treason. 



Take back the lie, base, craven wretch. 
Which thy vile lips have dared to speak ; 
Such calumny from thy vile tongue, 
But proves that thou art base as weak ; 
From coward lips such venom vile, 
Can only serve to wake disgust 
In hearts of all true, noble men. 
Who loathe such vipers of the dust. 

Then take it back, thou snarling cur, 
Insult not with your lying breath 
That ensign of a noble host 
Now tenting in their camps of death ; 
Nor shouldst thou dare with lying tongue, 
To slander men whose dauntless might 
Made for that flag a name and place — 
The grandest on fame's upmost height. 

Thine is the craven coward's course. 
Hyena-like that dares to tread, 
And with th}' foul, polluting breath, 
Insults the memory of our dead ; 
No faintest ray, nor spark of truth, 
Doth to thy lying tongue give pause ; 
Else hadst thou not, poor, slimy worm, 
Have dared to slander such a cause. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 

How worse than fool, thou poltroon knave, 
To basely lie without a reason — 
To let thy lying words imply 
That our just cause was one of treason. 
The banner that thou darest malign 
Shall live through never-ending glory. 
Whilst all such hissing toads as thou 
Shall be unknown in song or story. 

What valiant hero of the blue, 
W^ho faced our warriors in the fray, 
But knows that only patriots true, 
E'er fought so valiantly as they ; 
And knows, too, that no traitor band, 
In treason's cause was ever fired 
To such sublimely daring deeds 
As our Confederate hosts inspired. 

Then hush, yea, hush, thy putrid mouth, 
Go kill thyself, thy meeds to gain; 
Less sinned had Ananias, when 
God numbered him among the slain ; 
Nor such a crime since Judas' sin 
Hath ever dammed with such just reason, 
As that thou laidst upon thy soul 
In that foul, lying charge of Treason. 



10 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

LINES FOR DECORATION DAY. 



In duteous love we come again 

With evergreens and brightest blooms, 
The purest offerings we can bring, 

To lay upon the hallowed tombs 
Of our loved and honored dead, 

Whose deeds, heroic and sublime, 
Shall be our country's greatest pride 

Through all the years of endless time. 

When Northern despots came to rob 

Our country of her liberty, 
They flew to arms in her defense, 

And, shouting loud their battle cry. 
Unfurled unto the Southern breeze 

The banner of the triple bars 
And rushed to meet the coming foe 

Like heroes at command of Mars. 

And on the wide spread battle field. 

Like meeting clouds before the storm, 
With banners bright and flashing blades. 

They gathered into battle form, 
And, in their fervency of heart, 

Swore by the Heaven's eternal host 
That they would never yield their rights 

Till tyrants' blood had paid the cost. 

And witli tliL'ir bristling ba}'onets 
They met the raging battle blast, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I I 

And 'mid the sulphurous clouds of smoke, 
With which the field was overcast, 

Dealt lightning blows for liberty. 
And poured upon the dusty plain 

Their precious life-sustaining blood 
As freely as mid-winter's rain. 

But now the storm of war is past 

And freedom's flag lies in the dust ; 
A mock of peace reigns o'er the land, 

And the most sacred, solemn trust 
That patriot hearts have ever known 

Is all that we have now to claim — 
'Tis but the ashes of our braves 

And honors of their deathless fame. 

But when the muse of history wakes. 

Released from bonds of prejudice. 
She will the grandest story tell 

Of valorous deeds and sacrifice 
That ever graced the page of fame, 

And glory, bright as Heaven's sun. 
Will shed a luster o'er the land 

Of Robert Lee and Washington. 

And every nation of the world, 

Where honor's loved and patriots dwell. 

Will glorify the martyred dead 

Who 'neath the Southern banner fell ; 

And bards from every clime will come 
To wnere their cherished ashes lie, 



12 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And, catching inspiration there, 
Will waft their praises to the sky. 

And nature's God, who rules above, 

Will bless the tributes which we lay. 
With loving hand in tender care, 

Upon the consecrated clay 
Which lies upon the mouldering forms 

Of as true and faithful band 
As ever praised His holy name 

Or battled for their native land. 

And with each year's returning Spring 

We'll come w^ith flowers and deck the sod 
Which marks each hero's resting place ; 

And, lifting up our hearts to God, 
Plead by the justice of their cause. 

For which their noble lives were given, 
That we may meet them then at last. 

All gathered safely into Heaven. 



SLANDERERS OF GORDON. 



( Written when (iordon was canditate for Governor. 



I can't but feel within me rise 

A deep indignant tlamc 
Whene'er I hear ungrateful tongue 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 3 

Dare to assail the name 
Of him to whom we are endeared 

By every sacred tie, 
And him with whom 'twere pleasure yet 
. To follow and to die. 

For, oh, I loathe, hate and despise 

The poltroon and the knave, 
Who, serpent-like, will turn and strike 

The hand once stretched to save. 
Oh yes, oh yes, ingratitude, 

Of all man's sins the worst, 
If there be deeper hells than hell, 

May it be deepest cursed. 

Who but the bribe-bought ruffian, 

And self-ignoble clan. 
Would so disgrace our noble State, 

By slandering such a man? 
A man whose noble, chivalrous heart 

Ne'er hath a pulsing throb 
That does not beat for fellow-man, 

For country and for God. 

Go to the hundred battle fields 

Where he has bravely stood. 
And where, eight times upon their plains. 

He poured his manly blood, 
And ask of those historic grounds, 

Both vale and riverside, 
If ever duty called to him 

And he the call denied. 



14 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And ask you, too, of those who stood 

Beside him on those fields, 
If ever once he turned to foes 

And showed his back or heels. 
And ask of those who faced him there, 

Those heroes of the blue. 
And let him answer, him who dare, 

To say he was untrue. 

Then, when the storm of war had passed 

And all our hopes were riven, 
When satraps, with their bayonets 

( May they be cursed of Heaven ) 
Put alien thieves and scalawags 

To rule and rob our State ; 
Who was it then who led the van 

To shield us from that fate ? 

Oh, twas that matchless, God-like man. 

That Christian soldier brave, 
That statesman and philanthropist, 

Whom God in goodness gave 
To point the way of patriots 

Who seek the prize of fame, 
And bless us with the heritage 

Of one bright, spotless name. 

Then, hark ! ye miscreants and knaves, 
Your lying tongues be stilled, 

For cv'ry Southern jjatriot 

With more than scorn is filled. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1$ 

And hark ye, too, there is a God 

That's ruling overhead, 
And hush, lest, Ananias like, 

That God may strike you dead. 



THE DEATH OF CHEATHAM. 



The grand old soldier, Cheatham, 

Sat dying in his chair. 
And visions of the fitful past 

Came crowdino- on him there. 



'fc> 



He saw once more the legions 
And clans of mustering men. 

And heard once more the tumult 
Of war's wild, furious din. 

He heard the trump and cannons roar, 
The musket's deadly rattle ; 

The saber's clash, the yells and groans 
And rush of men in battle. 

He saw the rising clouds of smoke, 
He heard the war steeds neigh. 

And sniffed upon the sulphurous breeze 
The distant, deadly fray. 



1 6 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And then he heard the double-quick 

Of troopers hurrying by, 
And saw, perchance, his battle flag 

Borne bravely still on high. 

And as he seemed to hear and see 
Once more the battle storm, 

And felt within his aged veins 
His life blood mounting warm. 

There woke within his martial breast 
Once more the kindling flame 

That nerves the patriot's heart and hand 
To daring deeds of fame. 

His chivalrous soul unyielding, too, 

To sickness and to pain, 
Broke forth ''n that wild dream of death 

To lead his troops again. 

" Bring me my horse, my horse," he cried. 

The battle sounding nearer, 
"I'm going to the front," he said. 

His wife, oh, who can cheer her. 

She caught his now fast drooping head, 

She saw his glazing eye ; 
He'd gone to join the great command 

Of hosts beyond the sky. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1/ 

ON THE DEATH OF ADMIRAL SEMMES. 



Another gallant chieftain 

Of the grand heroic band, 
Who in the cause of freedom 

For our blest Southern land, 
Stemmed the tide of battle, 

And won a wide renown. 
Has doffed his earthly laurels 

For Heaven's brighter crown. 

Too unworthy is my pen 

To eulogize his name, 
For " earth's remotest nations " 

Are familiar with his fame. 
His grand, heroic deeds 

Upon the rolling sea, 
Has made his name immortal 

As that of Robert Lee. 

But the waves of old Atlantic, 

As they break upon the shore. 
Will chant in loudest praises 

His name forever more ; 
And the proud, unfettered winds. 

As they sweep from pole to pole, 
Will chant in mournful dirges. 

His praises as they roll. 

While his bright and faithful sword, 
That could not brook defeat, 



i8 



FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Lies beneath the waves 
In its silent, safe retreat. 

And there 'twill rest forever, 
Without a blot or stain, 

The peerless gem of gems 
That decks old Ocean's main, 



BRAVE NICKELL OF KENTUCKY 



All through the day in battle fray 

Brave Nickell nobly stood, 
And when the fight had closed with night 

And the field was red with blood ; 
When all had fled except the dead 

Of his followers on the field, 
He stood alone with flashino- jrun 

Disdaining still to yield, 



'S to 



Like lightning's crash his carbine's llasl; 

Rang out with fearful dread, 
And every peal from out his steel 

Still added to the dead. 
Loud bursting shell around Irm fell 

And fast the bullets flew. 
But, trusting God, he trode the sod, 

A hero brave and true. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 9 

But e'en the best must take their rest, 

And he must sleep at last, 
And ere the dawn of coming morn 

The tyrants held him fast. 
His arms they bound and round him wound 

Long cords of strength and power, 
And Martial Judge, with spiteful grudge, 

Soon fixed his fatal hour. 

Yes, right away he fixed the day. 

And in the self-same breath. 
With demon smile, named Johnson's isle 

His place to meet his death. 
But not a word or muscle stirred 

When the sentence struck his ear. 
He stood alone, like cast of stone. 

Unmoved by grief or fear. 

And when he stood and calmly viewed 

The beam and dangling rope. 
His manly will, with courage still, 

Unblanched by flight of hope, 
Showed from his eyes, without disguise, 

A heart with pluck imbued — 
A soul of flame, which would not tame, 

Nor be by death subdued. 

No Triend was there his thoughts to share. 

No priest with him to pray ; 
But never man, since time began. 

Met death with less dismay. 



-O FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

To friends in gray he bade them say. 
When death had closed his eye, 

That true to God and native sod, 
He never feared to die. 



JEFF. DAVIS. 



With love, almost idolatry, 

I reverence and revere 
That ^rrand old Southern patriot 

Who stands without a peer, 
The grandest chieftain of the age, 

Tho' clouded by defeat, 
The one true heart that never quailed 

Nor bowed at victor's feet. 

His was the noblest, truest hand 

That e'er held helm of state. 
And tho' by war's wild storms oppressed. 

He bravely met his fate. 
Nor prison walls nor victor's chain 

Could e'er his heart subdue; 
To will of God alone he bows, 

The truest of the true. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 21 

I love him for his constancy, 

And glory in his fame. 
Compared with all his enemies, 

He puts their best to shame. 
He is the grandest, noblest type. 

Of all our chivalry, 
And for himself or Winnie's sake 

'Td lay me down and die." 



THE DEATH OF JEFFERSON DAVIS. 



The grand old hero sleeps at last, 

His life's long march is done ; 
The grim night watch his post has past 

And left him all alone. 
No war's wild note shall wake him more, 

No tyrant's hand shall harm ; 
In bivouac of death he sleeps 

Secure from all alarm. 

No royal crown e'er pressed his brow, 

Tho' kingliest he of men, 
And, tho' in death he slumbers now, 

'Tis not for tongue or pen 
To add unto the chaplets green 

Which fame for him has wove ; 
A patriot true without a stain — 

A man that gods might love. 



22 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

His glorious sword, long laid aside, 

Is rusting in decay ; 
His noble voice in halls of state 

Is silenced now for aye ; 
But history's muse, with flaming pen. 

When writing Davis's name, 
Will leave on time's eternal scroll 

The brightest gem of fame. 



GORDON. 



Ye Southern sons of valiant sires, 

Ye comrades of the knight. 
Whose name your country's heart inspires 

With glory and delight ; 
Behold him stand before us all, 

A hero without stain, 
Calling us with honest call, 

And shall he call in vain ? 

Are we to dumb forgetfulness 

So quickly fallen prey, 
That all his gallant deeds for us 

Like dreams have passed away ? 
Did he not for us shed his blood, 

When souls of men were tried ? 
And is there anything too good 

To be to him denied ? 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 23 

No, no ! thank God, in Southern breasts 

Ingratitude dwells not; 
And he who once our love possessed, 

Shall never be forgot. 
Old Shenandoah may cease to roll, 

Virginia's mountains fall ; 
But Gordon's name on freedom's scroll, 

No time shall e'er appall. 

Go mark ye on his martial cheek 

That glorious diadem. 
That doth to us more loudly speak 

Than all the tongues of men. 
He is our Chevalier Bayard, 

Our more than Marshal Ney; 
A patriot praised by every bard, 

'*The right-hand man of Lee." 

And see upon the minaret 

Of fame's eternal height. 
His name and fame in glory set 

To shine forever bright. 
Then let us rally round our chief. 

Our leader grand and great, ^ 
'Til all his foes are put to grief. 

And he be chief of state. 



24 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

MOURN, GEORGIA, MOURN. 



Mourn Georgia, mourn, my native State, 
Sad seems indeed thy bitter fate ; 
Thy banner proud that nev^er trailed. 
By demagogues is now assailed, 
And thy bright star of rising fame. 
Seems doomed at last to set in shame. 

Thou hast before been sore distressed. 
When alien foes thy strength suppressed, 
And held thee down 'neath tyrant heel, 
Whilst scalawags might rob and steal ; 
l^ut tyrant's hate and heels to crush 
Could never give thee cause to blush. 

Unhappy then as was thy curse, 
Thy bitter fate must now be worse — 
To feel the shame, to see and know 
'Tis thy own sons inflict thy woe ; 
That they, who nurtured on thy soil, 
Now robber-like would thee despoil. 

Hear now that mob in scorn deride 
Thy patriots and thy men of pride. 
Whom they have dragged with malice vile 
P>om scats whicii chumps will now dcfile«— 
From places high that gave thee fame. 
Which now, alas, must bring thcc shame. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 2$ 

But hear me ; O, fair Georgia, hark ! 
There yet remains one man of mark, 
Who's hand thy honor yet may save. 
He is thy patriot — Gordon — brave, 
Spurn not his proffer, ere too late 
In sackcloth thou shalt mourn thy fate. 



CLUB SONG, No. i 



(Air, Auld Lang Syne.) 



Good night ! good night ! Taps now resound, 

May guardian angels keep 
A faithful watch by every couch 

Where comrades fall asleep. 

And when, at dawn of rosy morn, 

The birds sing reveille, 
Let every Regent don his crown 

Of white supremacy. 

Let noble deeds of comrades true 

A shield unto us be. 
And true to our just cause and God, 

We'll rule the land and sea. 



26 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

A PLEA FOR UNITY. 



Hear me, sons of Alabama ! 

Hear, oh, hear my earnest plea ! 
Cease thy fratricidal warfare ; 

Our nation's eyes are turned on thee. 
Let not demagogues and traitors 

With anarchistic tongues inflame 
Thy loyal hearts with madness blind 

To plunge thy State in gulfs of shame. 

Let thy pride of race unite thee ; 

Thy birthright in this godly land ; 
]iy God's ordained supremacy 

Thine is the right to still command. 
Then spurn, oh, spurn with bitter scorn 

The leadership of selfish knaves 
Who fain would foist upon us all 

A rulership of former slaves. 

Ye have in times that tried men's souls 

Displayed your valor and your might 
And borne through fiercest battle storms 

Old Alabama's banner bright. 
And now when threat'ning dangers lurk 

On every hand and every side, 
( )h, will yo, worthy patriots, 

Let aught your noble ranks divide? 

Our glorious Southland's holy cause 
A true Caucasian pride inspires 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 2/ 

In every heart and honest breast 

Of Alabama's sons and sires ; 
For come what will of weal or woe, 

Our destiny must be the same ; 
In unity there's honor still — 

Division means defeat and shame. 

Then cursed be he whose selfish soul, 

Groping in its darkened cell, 
Would on our State such odium bring — 

A degradation worse than h — 1. 
For when rape fiends and radicals 

Shall grasp once more the reins of state, 
God pity helpless women fair — 

Shield and protect them from their fate. 

Then let us all together come — 

United firm in heart and hand — 
And swear by God's eternal love 

To shield and save our native land. 
Yes, swear by God who made the blood 

Which flows in every white man's veins, 
That true to our Caucasian race 

We'll loyal stand while life remains. 




28 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 



Hallowed by man and blessed by God, 
Is ever the turf which covers the dead, 

I-^Lit doubly blessed and hallowed the sod 
Which lies o'er the martyred patriot's head. 

' Tis there that brightest flowers bloom 
And birds in peace most sweetly sing, 

W^hile glory there dispels the gloom 
And death itself doth lose its sting. 

'Tis there that purest tears are shed, 

Tears, not of pity, but of love ; 
For tho' we weep above the dead. 

We know the spirit's with God above. 

'Tis there that brightest dews are seen, 
'Tis there that winds most plaintive moan, 

'Tis there the moon's soft silvery sheen 
Doth lightly rest o'er Heaven's own. 

'Tis there that women love to kneel 
When prayers sincere most fluent flow, 

r^or in their hearts they seem to feel 
That Heaven's gain is our woe. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 29 

CLUB SONG, No. 2. 



(Air, Bonnie Blue Flag.) 



We are a band of patriots, 

United heart and hand, 
To shield the honor of our race, 

In this our glorious land. 
The blood that flows within our veins 

We never will disgrace 
By sharing our heritage 

With earth's ignoble race. 

CHORUS. 

Then rouse ! arouse ! 

Let white men all arouse ! 
Maintaining white supremacy, 

The cause which we espouse. 

By laws divine, the right to rule 

This white man's land we claim, 
And true to our Caucasian blood, 

We'll not submit to shame ; 
Nor will we e'er in peace submit 

To laws which stultify. 
But, in the majesty of right, 

We'll rule this land or die. 

CHORUS. 



30 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

OUR SOLDIERS' GRAVES. 



Behold the hosts with solemn tread, 

As on in silence now they move, 
Amid the graves where sleep the dead 

Who died for this dear land we love. 

'Tis not for pride and vain display, 

That they have sought this hallowed ground, 
But love's commands, which they obey, 

To honor those who lie around. 

See, every hand a garland bears 

Of evergreens and sweetest blooms, 

Bathed with the heart's sincerest tears, 
To decorate our soldiers' tombs. 

The task is one sublimely grand, 

And all that martyr ever craves, 
Or claims of tlie survivor's hand — 

A tribute to their silent graves. 

No monument of lettered stone, 

However high might be its head. 
So much of love can e'er make known, 

As do these tears b}- beauty shed. 

And oh ! what more could patriots ask, 
As they look down from heavenly spheres, 

And see performed this grateful task, 

Their graves o'crstrewn with flowers and tears ? 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 3 1 

DECORATION DAY. 



We come again, and with us bring 
The sweetest flowers of early Spring, 
To decorate the lonely graves 
Of our loved, departed braves. 

'Tis duty's call which we obey, 
That prompts the tributes which we pay 
To those who sleep in death's embrace, 
Who died for honor of their race. 

And as we deck each holy mound. 
We'll humbly kneel upon the ground, 
And raise our hearts in prayer to God 
To bless our patriots' hallowed sod. 



A WISH. 



(Written soon after the surrender.) 



I long for the day and I pray for the hour 

When the cause of the right o'er the wrong shall 

prevail ; 

When the South shall have gained the means and the 
power 

To make the foes of her liberties quail. 



32 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Yes, I long to hear the cannon's loud peal, 
And to see once more our banners unfurled ; 

Whilst the rattle of guns and the clashing of steel 
Shall announce our cause still alive to the world. 

And I long for more leaders like Jackson and Lee, 
To lead us once more our foemen to meet; 

That we by the flash of their sabres may see 

How to follow the course of their broken retreat. 

And I long to see die the last vandal in blue. 
And to dance to the notes of his funeral knell; 

And I long for a hole in the ground to look through, 
When he joins with all his companions in h — 1, 






RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 33 



MEMORIAL INVOCATION. 



Be pleased, O God ! to bless this day, 
And bless the tributes which we lay 

Upon the consecrated graves 
Of patriots who wore the gray. 

Quick to obey their country's call. 
When tvrants threatened to enthrall, 
They rallied to the new-born flag. 
Ready in her defense to fall. 

For justice and for rights denied. 
They met the raging battle's tide, 

Which foemen waged against their land, 
And in her cause they nobly died. 

For native land they fought and bled, 
And better blood was never shed, 
Nor ever shed for better cause, 
Than was that of our Southern dead. 

Nor ever yet in any land 

Was marshaled out a braver band, 

Than those who stood on Southern soil 
To battle for their native land. 



SONG 



AND 



SENTIMENT. 



36 FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

ALABAMA. 



Alabama ! Alabama ! 

I am dreaming now of thee, 
And I see the trend of thousands 

Coming from beyond the sea, 
As they mount upon the billows, 

Steaming through the spray and foam^ 
Wildly joyous at the prospect 

Of an Alabama houie. 

And I see within my dreaming 

Visions of the future cast 
That shall overwhelm with brilliance 

All the glories of the past ; 
For I see the spirit Progress 

Hovering o'er thee with her wand, 
At whose lightest touch responding. 

Wonders burst on every hand. 

She but touches : armies marching 

Come with axe, with pick and spade. 
Felling forests, bridging rivers, 

Delving out the level grade 
That shall be for steaming chariots 

A double iron-bounded course. 
Where the rushing wheels resounding 

Shake the mountains with their force. 

Again she strikes, and cities rising 
Like exhalations from the earth. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES, 37 

Sets the mighty world in wonder 

At their unexpected birth ; 
And I hear a hum of factories, 

Blending in a ceaseless roar 
Like the sound of ocean billows 

Breaking on a distant shore. 

And I see thy mighty mountains 

Torn asunder for their wealth, 
And I see thy fountains crowded 

By multitudes in search of health. 
And I see thy many rivers 

Opening out into the sea. 
Vessels crowded — golden freighted — 

Foreign tribute brought to thee. 

She strikes again : thy vales I see 

Are waving with the golden grain 
And fleets within thy harbors wait 

To bear it o'er the watery main. 
And I see thy rocky hill-sides 

Purpling with the luscious vine, 
And I hear the voice of nations 

Praising Alabama wine. 

But now a brighter scene appearing 
Breaks on my enraptured eye ; 

Temples grand and halls of learning 
Spread the land like stars on high, 

And from out those halls and temples 
I mark the hosts that come and go — 



38 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Poets, statesmen and commanders 

Whose fame shall sets the world aglow. 

And now, once more I see that wand 

Lifted high, the land to smite, 
And superstition's saints and devils 

Take their everlasting flight. 
The wand descends : a shock I feel, 

A mist comes over all I see, 
My sleep is broke and all my dream 

Has been of " what is yet to be.** 



GEORGIA. 



Hail, my native Georgia ! 

Fair are thy sunny skies, 
Thy mountains grand on every hand 

In splendor round me rise ; 
And down thy fertile valleys fair 

Bright sparkling streamlets flow, 
Whilst flowers rare perfume the air 

And set thy hills aglow. 

Great Empire of the South, 

Of all thou art the best, 
For every toil upon thy soil 

Returns a bounty blest. 
Thy every mound and every hill 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 39 

A wealth of minerals hold, 
Which waits but skill, the pick and drill, 
Bright treasures to unfold. 

Thy rivers at their source 

Flow forth from beds of gold, 
And down the land through valleys grand 

They sweep in billows bold. 
And on their waves thy commerce great 

Finds exit to the sea, 
And nations all, both great and small. 

Pay tribute unto thee. 

Thy sons in war are true and brave. 

In peace their virtues glow ; 
No traitor's name or coward's shame 

Doth thy proud records show, 
But thy bright star on freedom's flag, 

As luminous as at birth. 
Will ever shine with light divine 

Whilst freedom dwells on earth. 

Thou art a land of happy homes, 

Where peace and pleasure reigns ; 
Thy pretty girls, earth's treasure pearls, 

Make famous thy domains. 
Thou art indeed supremely blest 

By nature's thousand charms; 
Great mines of wealth and founts of health 

Thou claspest in thine arms. 



40 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And thou hast many mountains grand, 

And v^alleys fair to see, 
And Heaven's sun ne'er shone upon 

A fairer land than thee ; 
And as thy wandering son returns, 

Resolved no more to roam, 
He lifts his song in measures strong 

To praise his native home. 



RIZPAH. 



"And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth and spread 
it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of the harvest until 
water dropped upon tlicni out of Heaven, and sutfered neither the 
birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of tht- fields 
by night." II. Samuel, chapter xxi, verse 10. 



On a rugged hill in Gibeon, 

Beyond Jordan's verdant plain, 
By the hand of God's avengers, 

Were the sons of Rizpah slain ; 
Their forms, denied sepulchcr, 

Were cast upon the rock 
And left for the wild hyena 

And the ravenous vulture flock. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 4I 

But a mother's love and sympathy 

Ends not with the doomed one's breath ; 
Her devotion and her constancy 

Still increaseth after death. 
And Rizpah, with fidelity, 

On the rock her sackcloth spread, 
And stood alone in mourning 

To guard her cherished dead. 

Throughout the entire season, 

From the harvest till the rain, 
Her sleepless eyes unceasingly 

Kept vigil o'er the slain. 
The eagle screamed above her, 

Wild hyenas came to prowl, 
And her heart was often startled 

By the roaming lion's growl. 

But with courage never faltering 

She stood from day to day, 
A true, unselfish sentinel 

Against the beasts of prey. 
The sunbeams burned upon her, 

She bore the night wind's chill ; 
But through daytime and through darkness 

She was ever faithful still. 

The leopard and the tiger, 

When wandering by the spot, 
Beheld her steadfast standing 

And dared to touch her not. 



42 FOIBLES OF FAN'CY AND 

The hungry wolves came round her, 
And the lynx with burning eye, 

But daunted by her courage, 
Were made to quail and fly. 

And alone upon the rock, 

Unrelieved by any friend, 
Her long, dark tresses waving 

And disheveled by the wind, 
She kept her faithful vigils 

Till her weeping eyes were red, 
Her sole and only solace — 

A communion with the dead. 

And all the annals of the world 

Since the morning dawn of time 
Affords us no example 

More hero'c and sublime 
Than of this poor, mourning mother, 

Keeping vigils night and day. 
To protect her cherished loved ones 

From the birds and beasts of prey. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 43 

CLEOPATRA. 



AN IMITATION. 



Like the glorious lotus blossoms, 

Drifting on the placid Nile, 
My spirit soon on Charon's stream 

Shall swiftly glide from portals vile. 
Iris ! Charmian ! heed me quickly : 

Twine my tresses o'er my brow, 
Bring my crown and robe me swiftly, 

Antony av/aits me now. 

From the throne of realms supernal, 

Where forever he must reign, 
Antony, my noble hero, 

Calls me to his arms again. 
Robe me as befits my station, 

Scent me with the fragrant balm, 
Fill with wine my silver chalice, 

My poor, weary heart to calm. 

Over Egypt's plains and deserts 

Caesar's triumphs shall be vain ; 
Antony, to mock his victory, 

With his sword himself hath slain. 
And Cleopatra's pride unbending, 

Spurns his captive queen to be — 
Nurtured on the throne of freedom, 

Egypt's Queen will e'er be free. 



44 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

What to me is fame and glory, 

What to me is crown or throne, 
Since my glorious lord and lover 

On angel Argus! wings hath flown. 
Oh, the thought ! I cannot bear it ! 

In dreams I hearken to his call, 
And, waking, meet not his caresses ; 

My soul is turned to bitter gall. 

See how firm and true my courage, 

To my breast I press the asp, 
And, remembering thee, my lover, 

Smile upon his deadly clasp. 
Swiftly now the subtle poison 

Wends its way through every vein ; 
Noble hero, demi Atlas, 

I will soon be thine again. 

Though thy wrecked and scattered galleys 

Strew the beach on Actium's shore. 
Though thy eagle-crested warriors 

" Bear thy banners high no more ; " 
Though thy fame of rising splendor 

O'er the world no more may shine, 
Thou hast won a grander victory — 

Cleopatra's heart is thine. 

*Tvvas for thy " Star eyed Egyptian" 
Thou di<'st fling a world away — 

Fame and glory, throne and power, 
Hariercd lor lu r love a da} . 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 45 

Thou, the mighty, great triumvir 
Whom great Caesar feared to meet, 

Rome beheld an humble subject 
Suppliant at a woman's feet. 

Think not of thy fair Octavia 

Weeping in her widowed home, 
For 'twas God our loves united, 

Not the shallow forms of Rome, 
And it may be in the future 

Touched by time's soft, soothing art. 
That the blow will be forgotten 

And love again revive her heart. 

"Though the world for this condemn thee,'* 

Thou wert grand to spurn its hate ; 
God ne'er made thy matchless passion 

But to find in me its mate. 
And I, too, can face its frowning. 

Gladly on thy breast to lie. 
And, when sable death divides us. 

Gladly for thy love to die. 

Let my courage prove my passion 

Whilst the asp now drains my breathy 
And, with crown and queenly vesture, 

I dare to follow thee in death. 
Haste to meet me at the river. 

Haste ! oh, haste ! to meet thy bride. 
Stretch thine arms and guide me safely 

O'er the dark and chilling tide. 



46 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Dim and dark grows all around me, 

Sense and sight are failing fast ; 
Never love like mine was fettered — 

Death will make me free at last. 
Hark ! I grope in Stygian darkness ; 

Come, fair Iris, bear me home. 
Antony, my love, my hero. 

Stretch thine arms, I come ! I come ! ! 



POLICY. 

Talk not to me of policy, 

Of what I should or shouldn't do. 
For, steadfast to my principles, 

I my course will still pursue. 
Let judgment shape my actions 

And my conscience be my guide, 
For I'd rather face a frowning world 

Than yield my manly pride. 

My religion and my politics 

May I never seek to hide ; 
Let me steer with honest purpose 

Though I stem against the tide. 
And fettered not by policy, 

By precept nor advice, 
I'll bravely meet my dcstin)-. 

Though I plunge a precipice. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 4/ 

No, I will not be a puppet 

To any servile course, 
Though bribed by wealth and laurels 

And urged by tyrant force ; 
But my deep and clear convictions 

Shall ever serve to sway, 
And, with conscience for my shield, 

Only God I will obey. 

Then away with all your policy, 

'Tis dissembling and deceit — 
A smiling lie upon the lip — 

A vain, pretending cheat. 
'Tis born of fraud and cowardice, 

No truth is in its name, 
And I'd rather lose this heart of mine 

Than sear it with its shame. 

Yes, I loathe and scorn the hypocrite, 

Whose life's a living lie ; 
Who smoothes his actions and his speech 

With the oil of poHcy, 
Who stoops to public favor 

At every bend and nod. 
And brings disgrace upon the form 

Made in image of my God. 



48 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

THE ARMY OF TEMPERANCE. 



The banner of temperance now widely unfurled 
Gives cheer to the nation and hope to the world. 
Its bright gleaming folds lends a glow to the sky. 
And thousands have sworn to support it or die; 
And whilst the Creator remains on His throne 
Its fall or dishonor shall never be known. 
Raised by oppression in the cause of the right, 
All lovers of justice will 'neath it unite ; 
For wherever the presence of Bacchus hath been 
Grim death and despair are there to be seen ; 
Men he has murdered by millions untold, 
Destroying their souls ere their bodies were cold ; 
Bright homes he hath plundered of comfort and 

wealth, 
Made oceans of tears by destruction to health. 
The kind, loving father has changed to a fiend, 
The wife from her husband's affections hath weaned,. 
The love of the husband has changed into strife, 
l^oth blasting the love and the hopes of his wife. 
'Twixt brother and brother raised barriers of hate; 
The orphan has left unprotected to fate ; 
The widow and children hath robbed of their bread,. 
And left them to perish with hunger — unfed. 
Great minds hath he robbed of wisdom and reason, 
He has bribed the assassin and paid for arch-treason. 
In the altars of God he hath found himself place, 
And left there the traces of shame and disgrace. 
Sweet maidenly virtue hath robbed of its prize, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 49 

And done enough sin to have blackened the skies. 
Great kingdoms hath conquered, and banners hath 

furled, 
And spotted with graveyards the face of the world. 
He hath built on the earth the devil a throne, 
And consigned those to hell whom Heaven should 

own. 
Yes, these are the things which Bacchus hath done, 
But soon, thanks to God, his dark course will be run. 
Yes, mark me now well, the bright day 's near at hand 
When the curse of rum shall be swept from the land ; 
Throughout the wide world, from anear and afar, 
The armies of temperance are gathering for war. 
Justice and virtue, truth, honor and right, 
United with temperance have joined in the fight, 
And like the swift avalanche gathering in force, 
Overleaping obstructions that lie in its course ; 
And like the great tides of the ocean in storm, 
Uprising in might like mountains in form. 
Will come the grand army with banners all bright 
To battle for temperance, for God and the right. 
No loud booming guns will sound in their wake, 
They come not the lives of mortals to take ; 
No steel in their hands will be reddened with blood, 
No ruins mark places where houses have stood, 
No wails from the widowed and orphaned you'll hear, 
No red mangled corpse will be seen on its bier. 
No tramping of steed or wild clashing of steel 
Will be heard when these armies their presence re- 
4 veal ; 



50 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

But softly as glides the bright clouds overhead, 

And silent as voices which speak from the dead, 

Will come this great army, majestic in might, 

Bearing down on the wrong, defending the right. 

No loud beating drums, nor shrill screaming fife, 

Shall jar on the ear, giving token of strife ; 

But a calmness like that of a lake in a cave 

And a peace undisturbed as the peace of the grave 

Shall reign o'er the land, and the country will seem 

Like heavenly paradise viewed in a dream. 

The army is moving and soon will be here. 

Even now in the distance its columns appear, 

See, the hovering clouds which have darkened the 

sky. 
Recede and give light as the army draws nigh. 
Yes, mark you how firmly and grandly doth move 
This army approaching with banners of love ; 
'Tis coming, victorious, to claim its dominion, 
*Tis the army of temperance — Public Opinion. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 5 I 

THE UNFORTUNATE'S PLEA. 



Though clouds of adversity darken my life, 
And the star of my fate goes down in the strife, 
Though my destiny yields me but troubles and care, 
And my poor aching heart is rent with despair ; 
My lips shall be mute to the struggles within, 
And the shafts that are hurl'd, in my heart to descend. 
Though striking their mark, the wounds I'll conceal, 
And bravely repress the anguish I feel. 

Though my friends all forsake and the world doth 

condemn. 
Though my breast with its sorrow is full to the brim. 
Though my hopes are all blasted and my prospects 

are fled, 
Thank God for His strength ; my conscience, not dead. 
Still glows with its ardor for justice and right. 
And my soul still unawed by oppression and might. 
Bids a defiance to the wrath that is hurled. 
And gives scorn in return for the scorn of the world. 

Never my motives have been understood, 
Or else they have basely been misconstrued ; 
My actions suspected, my kindness abused. 
My sympathies spurned, my good will refused ; 
The serpent of slander hath traversed my fame. 
And his trail so polluting hath sullied my name ; 
But the lurements of creed, of power and gold, 
I've spurned from my breast like wolves from the fold. 



52 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And never will I while on earth I remain 
Seek from the world its plaudits to gain, 
Nor bow to the shrines of fashion and pride, 
Nor steer my course with the popular tide ; 
For policy's rule, and bigotry's reign, 
Awake in my soul its deepest disdain, 
And I turn in my loathing of hate and disgust 
From the soulless throngs, so false and unjust. 

They boast of religion and love for mankind, 
But damning a man for the bent of his mind, 
Cry infidel, heretic, knave and fool. 
To all who refuse their shackles and rule ; 
Dissenters they place on Procrustean bed 
And shorten their limb or sever their head. 
Or lengthen them out by chains and by screws, 
Thus making them gauge to their orthodox views. 

Fraud and chicanery in politics rule. 
And the greater the knave, the better the tool. 
And if he, in fraud, ignore the just laws. 
The louder will be the acclaim of applause. 
Thus goes the world with popular sway. 
Vice is triumphant and justice gives way. 
And judges in ermine their benches disgrace, 
And the people are taxed to keep them in place. 

'Tis ever the same, in state and in church, 
When charity's wanted 'tis found in the lurch ; 
Religion and freedom exist but in name, 
They both have their riders and have a like aim. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 53 

*Tis self aggrandizement, wealth, power and fame, 
And the means they pursue the devil would shame, 
But to be not aboard with the popular tide 
Is to have them abuse and your conscience deride. 

But why should I sigh or my race execrate 

When God is supreme over church and the state, 

And sooner or late will His vengeance be hurled. 

To right all the wrongs and sins of the world. 

Yes, soon or late, with Him must abide 

The judgment of all of whatever side ; 

Then the weak shall go up and the strong shall come 

down 
And justice shall wear the laurel and crown. 

Yes, life is but transient and short at the best. 
And beyond the dark grave is the haven of rest ; 
And there shall my spirit, when its trials are done, 
Mount to the throne my conscience hath won, 
And receive from my God, for whom I have wrought. 
The palms and the crown for the battles I've fought, 
And, folding my pinions, forever I'll rest 
In the mansions prepared for the weak and oppressed. 




54 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

NOT FOR BREAD ALONE. 



Response to F. L. Stanton's " Writing for Bread." ) 



What, tho' you sit and silent write 
Amid the still and gloom of night, 
Where feebly flickers, faintly falls, 
The lamp's dim light on barren walls ; 
Bend not in melancholy mood, 
Nor think of thy surroudinngs rude, 
For every care that haunts thee now. 
And casts its shadow o'er thy brow, 
Shall melt like mists and roll away 
And thou shalt see a brighter day. 

But think not that you sit alone ; 
Some glorious muse — all thine own, 
Is ever with thee — with her wand 
To touch thy pen and guide thy hand 
And make thy each and every line 
With inspiration's glories shine. 
And brightly gild thy every page. 
Which, brightening with each coming age, 
Shall yield thee more than bread alone — 
Undying fame — and sculptured stone. 

This world is not an empty dream, 
Howe'er deceptive life may seem ; 
But rich and wide its fields are spread 
r^or those who toil for fame and bread ; 
And love and tenderness and worth, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 55 

Like flowers that spring from mother earth, 
Will ever bloom and bud and twine 
Around the poet's sacred shrine, 
And thy sweet song, in sadness sung, 
Shall live when death has stilled thy tongue. 

Thy quick'ning breast by misery wrung 
Has given the charm to songs you've sung ; 
For, in thy sad and plaintive strain, 
Thou hast but voiced each brother's pain. 
Who daily strives for daily bread 
And feels, in famined heart unfed. 
That subtle longing and unrest 
Which all have felt but ne'er expressed ; 
And while with you our tears we shed. 
We'll give you love as well as bread. 

Then rouse thee, brother, raise thy head ; 
Thy path, though not with roses spread, 
Is not more rough than all must tread 
Who strive and toil to earn their bread. 
Alone in labor can be found 
The priceless boon of great renown ; 
Then mourn not that thy genius bright 
Must burn apace with Imp at night. 
For by its pale and flickering flame 
'T will light you on to deathless fame. 

And when thy pen is laid to rest~ 
The pen which oft thy hand has pressed, 
(With burning heart and aching head — 



56 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And thou art numbered with the dead- 
Thy genius then shall claim its meed, 
Thy soul on food of gods shall feed 
And thou shalt taste the nectar wine 
That gods prepare for souls like thine, 
And in Elysian regions blest 
Thy soul shall have eternal rest. 



THE RATIONALE OF SIN. 



(A reply to Rev. Fred. J. Estes" "First Cause of Woe.") 



How long shall the fables 

Of mythology last. 
Defaming Jehovah 

And his glories o'ercast? 
Oh, dark superstition. 

Thou shadow of night, 
How long wilt thou linger, 

Man's reason to blight ? 
How long shall the falsehood 

That a snake of the sod 
By men be acknowledged 

As more subtle than God? 
How long shall the darkness 

Of ignorance prevail 
And the foul tongue of slander 

God's wisdom assail ? 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 5/ 

Did the great living God, 

Whose hands did create 
This world we inhabit, 

And ten thousand more great, 
Whose will is but nature, 

Supreme of all law, 
And whose mind from the first 

All the future foresaw. 
Make man pure and holy — 

From sin pure and bright — 
And ordain that no sin 

Should his prospects e'er blight; 
Then make a vile serpent 

And into him instill 
The vile power to break 

And defy His own will ? 

Oh, believe it not so — 

'Tis false and untrue — 
For God, the all-wise, 

Would not such folly do. 
Yea, God is all wisdom, 

And when He made man 
He made him, no doubt. 

On a rational plan. 
He endowed him with sense, 

With conscience and might, 
And made him free agent. 

To do wrong or do right ; 
For without the extremes 



58 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Of evil and good, 
How could he serve God 
As really he should ? 

Had there never been sin 

From which to abstain, 
All conscience and reason 

Were but attributes vain; 
And my conscience and reason^ 

Inherent from birth, 
I would not surrender 

For all fables of earth. 
And I'll tell you just here, 

As I have told you before, 
To God, ill our wisdom, 

We should bow and adore. 
Then neve»-, oh never, 

Defame thy great God 
By making Him less 

Than a worm of the sod. 

To thee He gave conscience, 

A heart and a brain. 
And thou shouldst not bury 

Thy talents in v^iin. 
Look around, look aloft. 

Let your reason be free ; 
Behold His great works 

On the land and the sea ; 
See mountains and rivers, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 59 

Volcanoes and seas, 
Great oceans and lakes 

And forests of trees ; 
Then list to the thunder 

And the lightning's wild crash ; 
Hear the roar from the shore 

Where the tempest waves dash ; 

Then turn thy gaze upward 

To the great arching sky 
And view thousands of worlds 

That bedazzle the eye — 
Each rolling in splendor 

Through infinite space, 
Each controlled in their movements 

Or held in their place 
By the hands of the great God, 

Whose will they obey, 
And whose power and greatness 

Can never decay. 
Then reflect, if you will. 

And believe, if you can, 
That this great supreme God 

Ever formed Him a plan 

And had not the will 

And the power to make 
That plan all secure 

From the lies of a snake. 



60 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

COOSA RIVER. 



A REVERIE. 



Roll on, oh gentle Coosa, 

Thou art dearer far to me 
Than all the other waters 

That flow into the sea. 
From thy early fountain source, 

'Mid the Georgia mountains grand, 
Down through old Alabama 

To the ocean's pearly strand, 
Thou art peerless in thy beauty, 

Thou art ever fair and bright, 
And everywhere I view thee 

There is gladness in the sight. 

What memories, sweet and tender, 

Of my by-gone happy days, 
Now fills my heart with rapture 

Whene'er on thee I gaze. 
Those happy days of boyhood. 

That can bless me never more, 
Were spent with boon companions 

In sporting on thy shore ; 
And, oh, what royal pleasure 

'Twas to i)lunge into thy tide 
And, like the wild aquatic birds, 

On thy placid bosom glide. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 6l 

Ah, well do I remember 

One blissful summer night, 
When moon and stars of Heaven 

Made thy crystal waters bright, 
Of floating down thy current. 

Borne onward by the tide. 
In sweetest little shallop, 

With fair Inez by my side ; 
When I told her of my love. 

As I clasped her to my breast. 
And, in answer to my wooing, 

Heard her love for me confessed. 

Then again upon thy borders 

On a lovely day in May, 
With flowers blooming 'round us 

And the birds all singing gay, 
How I led off in the dance. 

With a merry, happy train. 
Whirling in a giddy waltz 

With blithesome Kitty Dane, 
The fairest little fairy. 

To my bosom firmly pressed. 
And felt her heart responding 

To the throbbing in my breast. 

There 'neath the beech and maples 

That shade thy grassy shore. 
Near the village of Coloma, 

In the halcyon days of yore, 



62 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Where I was want to wander 

To view thy lovely sheen, 
Hand in hand with pretty Lizzie, 

The little village queen, 
And with her there to angle. 

With our hooks oft baited not, 
All forgetful of the fishing. 

So contented with our lot. 

Then drifting, gently drifting, 

Adown thy placid stream, 
Borne onward to Aurora 

In my retrospective dream, 
I meet once more the loved ones, 

Both my friends and kindred dear, 
And view once more the prospect 

That was wont my heart to cheer, 
And see once more around me 

Those winsome girls and boys 
Which made that village on thy shore 

The Eden of my joys. 

But roll on, noble river, 

My retrospect is vain, 
Whilst thou shalt flow forever, 

I shall never feel again 
The rapture and the ecstacy, 

And charms without alloy, 
That blest me in those sunny days 

When I was yet a boy. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 63 

Sporting on thy bosom, 

Or romping on thy shore, 
With precious friends and loved ones, 

In those happy days of yore. 



MAN WAS MADE FOR WOE. 



-Go search the world from pole to pole, 

And view mankind in every state ; 
You'll never find a living soul — 

What'er his land, what'er his fate — 
Who has not felt within his breast 

The tides of sorrow ebb and flow, 
And has not felt, when care oppress 'd, 

That mortal man was made for woe. 

The loving swain in lonely bower 

In fondness burns with passion's flame; 
Each budding bloom and blushing flower 

Reminds him of his cherished dame. 
But, when a few short years have fled 

His youthful cheek has lost its glow, 
In tears of disappointment shed, 

He learns that man was made for woe. 

And he, the pampered man of pride. 
With hoarded wealth of precious ore. 



64 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

With teeming acres, broad and wide, 
Who daily scorns the weak and poor, 

Will, when his frame with age is bent. 
And every step 's a painful throe, 

In his cold heart his pride repent, 

And murmur, ** man was made for woe," 

The ro}'al king and lord of state. 

Flushed with men's homage and with fame. 
May for a while forget that fate 

Has made all human kind the same ; 
But, ere for them life's sun shall sink, 

A Marah's draught for them must flow, 
And, as they quaff the bitter drink. 

Must learn that man was made for woe. 

Vain is the Bacchanalian cup, 

And vain is worldly wealth and fame ; 
The cup of sorrow all must sup. 

In differing phase, but all the same. 
For some must burn 'neath Tropic sun. 

Some perish in the Arctic snow, 
And some have treasures, some have none^ 

But all must have some bitter woe. 

Such is the destiny of man, 

And it is just as we shall find, 
A part of the Creator's plan 

To teach us to be good and kind. 
To succour those who need our care, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 65 

And to withhold each cruel blow ; 
For, as a brother's care we share 
So shall we lessen our own woe. 



CUPID'S AUCTION. 



Behold upon the market stand 

A lovely gem of radiance rare, 
With which no pearl of Eastern land 

In point of beauty can compare ; 
'Tis brighter than a diamond far, 

More lovely than the fairest star, 
More precious than Arabian gold, 

It's worth in words can ne'er be told. 

It hath no duplicate on earth, 

And heaven claims no fairer gem 
Of perfect cast and peerless worth 

Than this endearing diadem; 
But here it is, and to be sold, 

For highest price, to young or old, 
'Tis true no small bid will suffice ; 

Then let us hear the highest price. 

Deceitful Flattery, first to speak, 

Now makes an offering fraught with j)ride. 
He compliments the glowing cheek. 

With raven curls on either side ; 



66 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Then adds unto with tenderness 
A praise of form and style of dress, 

And seeks by bid of coxcombs' art 
To gain the prize unto his heart. 

Then Beauty, clothed with faultless style, 

Made offering of his handsome face, 
O'er which there played a sunny smile. 

And bowed with an artistic grace, 
Which seemed to say in language plain. 

He had no doubt the prize he'd gain ; 
He doubtless thought his face and form 

Would take the precious gem by storm. 

Next pompous wealth's defiant voice 

Proclaimed a bid of indolence. 
And added gifts of Mammon's choice 

In part, by way of recompense, 
And with base heart and haughty pride 

Thought other bids to set aside ; 
For gold hath such a charming touch, 

Naught else, he thought, availed so much. 

Then intellect, with modest grace, 

Announced his bid — a wealth of mind, 
And by the beam upon his face, 

He deemed the prize for him destined ; 
For who, with privilege to choose, 

Could such a bid as his refuse ; 
His wit and wisdon, so well known, 

He thought would make the gem his own. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 6/ 

But Love, all friendless and alone, 

At once upon the scene appears, 
And prays to make his offering known ; 

A bid it is of sighs and tears — 
A yearning of a constant heart, 

Whose constancy would ne'er depart, 
A manly soul, unknown to fear, 

A faithful arm to do and dare. 

A mind in which daily nurture 

Sweet visions of the gem herself, 
Feet which know but paths of virtue, 

Hands clean of all dishonest pelf; 
All these the bid which Love would give ; 

Now tell me, shall his bidding thrive ? 
Oh, if! oh, if! you answer yes. 

Long will I Cupid's auction bless. 




68 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

A HUNTER'S WISH. 



My former home and friends I've left, 

And sought the forest's rugged wild^ 
Whose primeval grandeur as yet 

The hand of man hath not defiled ; 
And though it is 'mid scenes like these 

That I have always loved to dwell — 
And tho' there's much to please me here, 

I still have cares I can't dispel. 

For when upon the mountain's top 

I stand with rapt, enchanted gaze, 
On lovely scenes which meet my view, 

Bathed in the distant mellow haze, 
Within my heart, so lone and sad, 

I feel a restless, longing care, 
For one on whom my soul is set 

Is not with me the scene to share. 

And when beside the flowing stream, 

To Undine's song I bend my ear. 
And lightly tread the mossy bank, 

The sweet, low murmuring song to hear ; 
*Tis then I feel how sad it is 

To waste upon the listless air 
So much of nature's melody, 

And she not here the song to share. 

And when engaged in flying chase, 
I^xcitemcnt thrills my panting breast. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 6g 

And climbing up the mountain's side, 
I pause awhile to watch and rest, 

And see the stag and hounds go by, 
As if in flight of wild despair. 

There comes, amid my wildest thoughts, 
A wish that she the scene might share. 

And when the sable shades of night 

Have fallen over hills and plains, 
Whilst tired nature takes its rest. 

And deep, unbroken silence reigns, 
'Tis then, in gloominess of mind, 

I think of her so bright and fair. 
And from my heart there steals a wish 

That she my loneliness might share. 



A WOMAN OF THE TOWN. 



Only a fallen woman, 

Mark the paint upon her cheek. 
That hides the faltering blushes 

Where modesty would speak ; 
Spurn her from your church's door, 

Seat her not in sacred pew, 
Her soul is steeped in vileness, 

Let her learn her wrongs to rue. 



70 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Bar all your homes against her 

And spurn her on the street, 
Let her ears to scornful hisses 

Hearken when you chance to meet. 
She has parted with her virtue, 

She was tempted and she fell, 
And now, with scornful daggers, 

Help to drive her on to hell. 

Jesus, the dying saviour, 

Only shed his precious blood 
To pave the way to Heaven 

For the virtuous and the good. 
The unfortunates of passion. 

And of man's deceiving lies, 
Must never hope for pardon 

Nor to mount the christian's skies. 

If she ask of you for bread, 

Be sure you give her a stone — 
Perhaps 'twill gall her conscience 

And extort a deeper groan. 
Let her feel your pious vengeance. 

Crush her heart beneath your heel, 
And think how Christ will bless you 

For the spirit you reveal. 

Never touch her sinful hand, 
Nor beside her kneel and pray ; 

Shut the book of life against her, 
Let her go her sinful way. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. J\ 

Sting her with contumely, 

Never let to her be known 
That Christ said that the sinless 

Should be first to cast a stone. 

Oh, you hollow-hearted men. 

And you women in your pride, 
Behold this fallen outcast 

While your consciences decide 
If you should have forgiveness 

For all your sinful stains, 
While she, poor erring mortal. 

Must, unpitied, wear her chains. 



THE WRECK. 



'TIs over now, the dream is past, 
A dream it was — too bright to last ; 
I know the worst, I feel it all. 

My last bright hope has fled ; 
I take the cup and drink the gall, 

Though tears no more I'll shed. 

Yet, welling up in memory strong, 
I measure still the awful wrong ; 
His loving words were, oh, so dear, 
I blindly followed on, 



J 2 FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

And now there's naught my heart to cheer. 
My faith in man is gone. 

But oh, unequal and unjust, 

That he who won my love and trust, 

And then betrayed me to my shame, 

Tho* guiltier far than I, 
Escapes the penalties and blame, 

Whilst I must more than die. 

For I have learned, alas, too late ! 
To mourn my sad and bitter fate; 
Have learned in bitter anguish deep 

How base man is — unjust, 
And learned how useless 'tis to weep, 

When conquered by his lust. 

But so it is, the die is cast. 

The past is now forever past ; 

Nor pleading prayer, nor mints of gold, 

Nor all my curses vain 
Can lift the guilt from off my soul, 

Nor bring my virtue back again. 

Could I alone but bear the shame, 

And sully not my parents' name, 

My bleeding heart should bleed alone. 

My lips should murmur not, 
And I might stifle every groan, 

And cease to wail my lot. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 73 

But when I think that with my fall 
My friends, my brothers, sisters, all, 
And every kindred link on earth 

Must share the blighting shame — 
Indeed, my babe before its birth — 

The thought doth wreck my brain ! 

Ah, yes, ah, yes, e'en now I feel 
My vague and wandering senses reel ; 
Black demons strike and serpents dart, 

And fiends, the blackest, round me yell; 
My friends forsake, my heart strings part ; 

Oh, welcome death and hell. 



MY FRIEND. 



My friend of to-day is my friend of to-morrow. 
His joy is my joy, his sorrow my sorrow ; 
Let him be what he will, his acts I approve. 
For I see not his faults, so great is my love. 

I've known him full long and know him full well, 
And his many good traits 'tis useless to tell ; 
But sufficient to me is this above all. 
He's a friend unto those whom misfortunes befall. 



74 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

He wears not the symbols of creed or of church, 
But when charity calls is not found in the lurch, 
And bearing no trumpet to sound his own praise, 
His conscience by him is more treasured than bays. 

Never daunted by fear, when dangers arise, 
Nor wearing a mask, his thoughts to disguise : 
He's a friend to his friends and a foe to his foes, 
And his actions his noble impulses disclose. 

He is rich, but not rich with silver and gold, 
Nor many broad acres hath he to control ; 
But richer, far richer, than Crcesus, the king. 
His wealth is the peace his conscience doth bring. 

Unsordid, unselfish ; he's a man I can trust. 

For his words and his deeds are all meant to be just. 

And though he may err in whole or in part, 

'Tis a fault of his judgment and not of his heart. 

And now, as in future, " let fate do her worst," 
My hopes be destroyed, my prospects accursed ; 
Come weal or come woe, let me sink or swim, 
I'll be true to my friend though the world should 
condemn. 

And were there some ruby or diamond, more bright 
Than the fairest of gems in the crown of the night, 
And should all the stars turn to diamonds and fall, 
I would not give my friend, if I could, for them all. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 75 

TO-MORROW. 



To-morrow, to-morrow, 

Alas, for poor me ! 
I've been waiting so long 

The morrow to see 
That would bring me surcease 

From sorrow and care, 
And ease my poor heart 

Of the pain that is there. 

But, oh, the to-morrow 

For which I have sighed, 
I fear will ne'er come 

'Till the fountains are dried 
That now give a vent 

To my anguish ar^d woe, 
For my only nepenthe 

Is when my tears flow. 

All the friendship I've known 

Was sordid and base, 
All the love I have sought 

Was a butterfly chase ; 
When the prize I had seized^ 

The attraction had fled. 
And my poor, hungry heart 

Left in hunger unfed. 

All the hopes of my youth, 
My castles in air. 



76 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Built for the morrow, 
So brilliant and fair. 

Have moulded in ruins — 
Have gone to decay, 

And to-morrow so bright 
Is still far away. 

The dream of to-morrow — 

How false was the dream — 
That to-morrow would come 

With a bright, sunny beam, 
Dispelling the shadows 

That darken my life. 
And light up my soul. 

Now gloomy with strife. 

Yes, false was the dream, 

Each day is the same. 
The morning but dawns 

To rekindle the flame. 
Of longing for pleasures 

I never can know, 
Then turns into darkness 

And leaves me in woe. 

Hut to-morrow will come, 

Oh, welcome the day, 
When m)' heart shall be still 

Hcneath the cold clay ; 
M\' pulseless, pale hands 

Across my cold breast, 
.My soul with its God, 

My bod\' at rest. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 7/ 

THE RIGHT. 



To my son Byron. 



On the world's broad stage of action, 

Whatsoever part you play, 
Let it be your soul's attraction 

To do all the good you may ; 
Heed you not the voice of jeering, 

Notice not the foes who slight ; 
Lift your head with manly bearing, 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

Seeming friends will round you linger. 

When your labors meet success, 
But will point a scorning finger 

When they see you in distress ; 
And it may be they will trample 

On you with a tyrant's might, 
But forbear from their example. 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

Oft temptations in your pathway. 

Like fair roses will be spread ; 
Deceitful charms to lead astray. 

Hiding dangers from your tread ; 
For oft beneath *' fair roses " lie 

Serpents of most deadly bite ; 
So always keep an open eye, 

Let your motto be " The Right." 



78 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

First see that what you undertake 

Is just and right before you start, 
And when you've done so, loose the brake, 

Then push ahead with all your heart ; 
Think not of troubles on the track, 

Tho' many dangers meet your sight, 
Face them and bravely force them back ; 

Let your motto be "The Right," 

Should slanderers your name assail, 

Turn away with heedless ear ; 
Should friends forsake and fortune fail, 

Still to duty persevere ; 
For every star that shines above 

Shines brightest on the coldest night; 
So let the stars a lesson prove — 

Let your motto be "The Right." 

And when from earth you pass away, 

And your soul on wings of love 
Has reached the shores of endless day 

In the spirit land above, 
You'll find inscribed above the throne, 

In characters of living light, 
The motto which has been thine own — 

The golden motto of " The Right.*' 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 79 

GIVE ME FOR A FRIEND. 



Give me for a friend 

The warm hearted man, 
Who dares to do right, 

Whatever betide ; 
Whose love-beaming eye 

Some virtue will scan 
In the worst of all those 

Whom braggarts deride. 

I ask not his name, 

Nor care for his birth ; 
Whether Gentile or Jew, 

No need to inquire ; 
Whether highly in fame. 

Or lowly of earth, 
If his heart warmly beats 

With love-kindled fire. 

Yes, give me the man 

Whose soul-beaming eye 
Grows moist with a tear 

At pity's appeal. 
And who to the call 

Is ready to fly, 
And a liberal heart 

By actions reveal. 

Yes, give me the man 
With carriage erect. 



So FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

In the lines of whose lips 
True courage I'll trace ; 

Who's slow in a friend 
A fault to detect, 

But ready and quick 
A foeman to face. 

Let him be a true man, 

From dogmas all freed, 
Whose mind is his book, 

His conscience his guide ; 
Who deigns not to stoop 

To priest-ridden creed, 
But walks by the light 

Which God has supplied. 



GOOD-BYE. 



An Evening Reverie. 



Impelled by that resistless fate, 

Which guides me with an iron hand, 

I must forsake the scenes of late. 
To roam again some other land. 

For it has ever been my lot 

'Mid strangers all my life to roam. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 8 1 

And never find on earth a spot 
That I may even claim as home. 

And knowing not where next I'll be, 

I follow on without a fear, 
For since these scenes no more I'll see, 

There's nothing else excites a care. 

But let me go where e'er I may. 
There's not a scene that I'll forget ; 

There's not a friend but every day 
I'll think of with a sad regret. 

*Nebo and Hebron oft' will rise 

In sweet imaginative view, 
And, looking on the starry skies, 

My soul will all its hopes renew. 

*Round Islartd, too, and Bethlehem 

Will in affection ever dwell, 
For sacred truths first learned in them 

Have sunk in memory's deepest cell. 

And friendly faces that I've loved. 
Imprinted on my inmost heart. 

Will linger there by time unmoved, 
And only with my life depart. 

There's Robert L , my noble friend. 

From whom I part with keenest pain. 

For him my love shall never end, 
Tho' we may never meet again. 



82 FOIBLES OF FANXV AND 

Yes, and there is still another — 

Dear Thomas S — , whose generous heart 

Makes me love him like a brother, 

And grieves my soul that we must part. 

And oft' when I in slumbers lie. 
My soul, escaping from my breast, 

Will back to Minnie swiftly fly, 

And vigils keep while she's at rest. 

But why should I their names repeat, 
Or let my muse their vnrtucs tell, 

When we on earth no more will meet. 
So, friends and loved ones, fare ye well. 

*Nebro, Hebron, Kound Island and Bethlelieni were names of 
churches in county, Ala. 



WAITING AND DREAMING. 



I am waiting, I am dreaming. 

While the years are rolling by. 
And my hairs arc whiter turning, 

And a dimness of my eye 
Is the all that I am gaining 

From the swiftly passing years, 
Save the shortening of my journey 

To the briglit celestial spheres. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. -83 

All my labors now are ended, 

Every task is finished now, 
For the stamp of many winters 

Is imprinted on my brow ; 
And adreaming now I ponder, 

While the years are flitting by, 
Yes, I'm dreaming of the pleasures 

Of a home beyond the sky. 

Of life's years I've had full measure. 

And I've borne my load of care ; 
I have tasted earthly pleasures, 

And of troubles had my share ; 
Now I'm growing old and feeble, 

And my journey soon will cease, 
For by day and night I'm dreaming 

Of sweet heaven and its peace. 

Many friends have gone before me, 

Whom I long once more to see ; 
Many loved ones, too, are waiting 

There to greet and welcome me ; 
And while waiting and a-dreaming, 

As the years are rolling by, 
I can almost hear their voices 

Chanting anthems in the sky. 

In my Savior I have trusted ; 
He has given me the peace 
That the understanding passeth. 



84 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And my longing doth increase 
There to stand within His presence. 

And be known as I am known ; 
And awaiting I am dreaming 

or sweet Jesus and His throne. 



I'M IN LOVE WITH TWO GIRLS. 



I'm in love with two girls^ 

Now isn't that queer — 
One's a little brunette, 

The other's quite fair ; 
They both are so pretty, 

So sweet and so dear, 
To say wh'ch is dearest 

I can't, I declare. 

But of this I'm assured — 

They dearly love me ; 
Are not the least jealous 

Wherever I be ; 
I know they are constant 

And true in their love, 
And ne'er will forsake me 

Where ever I rove. 

There are others, I know, 
More sweet — debonair, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 85 

But in my affection 

There's none to compare 
With these little ladies 

Of whom I'm so fond — 
My black-eyed brunette 

And rosy-cheek blonde. 

I said that I loved them, 

But feebly expressed 
How deeply abiding 

Their place in my breast ; 
And the wealth of a world, 

In diamonds and pearls, 
I would count as but dross 

Compared to my girls. 

And there is another. 

Of whom I've not told, 
And with whom I'm in love, 

Tho' now she is old. 
She's the queen of my soul, 

The charm of my life — 
My little girls' mama. 

My own precious wife. 




86 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

DYING ABELARD. 



Here within this gloomy abbey, 

Where I came to hide my shame, 
I now welcome death's approaches 

Which must soon my spirit claim. 
Years have passed since first I entered,. 

Through this ill-foreboding door, 
Casting off the wreaths of laurel, 

WHiich in glory once I wore. 

And with memories wrought in sorrow^ 

Slowly wearing out my life, 
I have prayed the coming summons 

That should end my bosom's strife. 
And now as the sable shadows 

Darken o'er my glazing eye. 
Calmly I receive the warning, 

Feeling that 'tis sweet to die. 

But oh, my faithful Heloise, 

To thee my dying spirit flies, 
And the past with sorrows laden, 

In my burning thoughts arise; 
And I see thee pure and lovely, 

As before I brought thee shame, 
And I hear thy earnest pleading. 

To forsake thee — for m\' fame. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 8/ 

And I see the look of anguish 

Settle on thy features still, 
As when first the curse of passion 

Triumphed o'er thy virtuous will. 
O, the memories of that hour ; 

How they cling with keen regret, 
Would to God my awful sinning, 

I could banish or forget. 

All my fortune, fame and glory, 

I relinquished for thy smile. 
Smothered was my soul and conscience, 

By my passion's subtle guile, 
And when all too late repenting, 

I had taken thee, to wife, 
Fulbert, in his brutal vengeance, 

Worse than robbed me of my life. 

Hark, methinks I hear thy voice, 

Yes, O yes, I see thy face ; 
Quick, my long neglected idol, 

Clasp me in thy warm embrace ; 
Lay thy hands upon my brow. 

Whilst those burning lips of thine 
Impart once more their latent heat 

To these freezing lips of mine. 

Alas ! 'tis o'er, 'twas but a dream 
Of my rack'd and frenzied brain. 

And thou — my own sweet Heloise, 
I will never see again. 



88 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Still and dark is all around me, 

Soon my breast will cease to swell, 

God of mercy shield and keep thee, 
Sweet Heloise, fare thee well. 



WAITING AND LONGING. 



How long seem the days, and what ages the weeks, 
Since, darling, my lips I last presssed to thy cheeks ; 
And oh ! with what longing, what anguish and pain, 
I wait for the day when I'll see thee again. 

The nights are so long, so lonely without thee. 
My thoughts and my dreams are ever about thee ; 
Sleep woos not my lids, tho' tired and weary, 
Life is a burden, existence is dreary. 

In bright gilded halls of pleasure's resort. 
Where the joyous and gay with companions consort, 
The laughter there heard and all that I see, 
O'erwhelms me with sadness and longings for thee. 

On the streets when I stroll and join in the throng 
Of multitudes rushing, hurrying along, 
All aimless I wander on no mission bent. 
And naught that I find can bring me content. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 89 

O, what in this hfe is worth Uving for me 
When thy face and thy form no longer I see, 
No music can soothe me, no pleasures delight, 
When thou art not near me my life is a blight. 

Then fly ye winged hours and hasten the day 
That shall bring me surcease from my longing dis- 
may; 
When the sunshine of love, the smiles of my wife 
Shall banish the darkness that shadows my life. 



A LOVER'S PIOUE. 



Fair girl, if thou could'st only know 

How much of love thou art possessed. 
Thou would'st the cruel slights forego 

By which my heart's so oft distressed ; 
Nor would thy lip, in cold disdain, 

E'er with scornful smile reprove me, 
Unless 'tis pleasure to give pain 

To one who cannot help but love thee. 

Nor would that sparkling eye of thine 
E'er blanch me v/ith its glance of hate. 

Nor would'st thou scorn these tears of mine, 
And bid me curse my bitter fate. 

Nay, nay, not so, if thou but knew 
How helpless I am to control 



90 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

The flame of love which lit by you, 
That day and night consumes my soul. 

Ikit pity would with soothing wand 

Thy heart to soft impulses move, 
And thou who art so proud and grand, 

Would'st pity my unhappy love ; 
Repentance, too, within thy heart, 

Would'st fill thy lovely eyes with tears, 
And bid thy quivering lips impart 

Sweet words of solace to mine ears. 

But go ! thy pity I disdain. 

My manhood's pride is now returning, 
For tho' I've loved so long in vain. 

The flame at last must cease its burning. 
Yes, true, for even whilst I write, 

Altho' the change has come so late. 
My soul's aglow with new-born light, 

From fires of newly kindled hate. 

Yes, go ! and be thou cursed or blest, 

Thy love and pity I disdain, 
I'or now I feel within my breast 

No more the slightest touch of pain, 
Nor would I lose one single breath 

To yield a sigh of one regret, 
But rather would I face my death 

Than suppliant sue to base coquette. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 9I 

THE EXILE'S WISH. 



When my summons of death shall come, 

And I must lay me down and die, 
I wish to be afar from home 

Where not a single weeping eye 
Shall look upon my pallid brow 

And mark the heaving of my breast, 
For were my senses then as now, 

I could not calmly sink to rest. 

Nor do I wish in that dread hour 

The sobs of grieving friends to hear, 
And know that 'tis not in my power ^ 

The sadness from their hearts to cheer ; 
Nor would I feel upon my cheek 

The tender touch of loving hand, 
Nor list to lips which faltering speak 

The glories of a better land. 

But rather in some lonely cave, 

To all the world but me unknown. 
Be mine, the exile's unsought grave. 

Where, soothed by the ocean's moan, 
Without a tear, without a groan 

To end this troubled life of mine 
And leave my dust, my mouldering bones, 

Where sun or star-rays never shine. 



92 FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

WOMAN AND THE SNAKE. 



Reply to Rev. F. J. Estes. 



I hold it true 

And still maintain 
This fact where e'er I go ; 

That I or you, 

What e'er we do 
Are heirs to pain and woe. 

Old mother Eve, 

The apple ate, 
From the forbidden tree, 

And I believe 

'Twas to conceive, 
And so caused you and me. 

We all are here 

How e'er it be, 
And all must multiply, 

And all must bear 

Pain, grief and care. 
And in the end must die. 

God willed it so, 

We can't deny, 
Or else it ne'er had been ; 

And so 'tis so 

That all our woo 
Is not produced by sin. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 93 

In Eden fair, 

Ere man was made, 
Jehovah's will was law ; 

The tempter's snare 

And man's despair 
God doubtless all foresaw. 

And had he not 

Ordained that Eve 
Should of the apple eat, 

Old Eve, I wot, 

Had never got 
Deceived by such a cheat 

And when you try 

The fact to screen, 
God's word you must forsake. 

For all must die, 

Both she and I, 
Said God ; not so the snake. 

And death, you see. 

Brings pain and woe ; 
And troubles multiply, 

And you and me 

And all we see. 
Must suffer, toil and die. 

And good or bad, 
'Tis all the same. 



94 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

We can't amend the law ; 
And whether glad, 
Or whether mad, 

It ain't no use to jaw. 



AN EVENING REVERIE. 



The sinking sun's last lingering light, 
Has tinged the Western sky with gold. 

And deepening shades of coming night 
Now gathering round me I behold. 

The sweet refreshing evening breeze 
About my brow begins to play, 

And now I see through yonder trees, 
Bright Jupiter's first twinkling ray. 

And while I sit in calm repose, 
Recalling memories of the past ; 

Long by-gone days again disclose 

Sweet scenes of youth too bright to last. 

Sweet home, dear place of peace and love, 
Hallowed by a mother's tread; 

To thee in thought I swiftly move, 

And greet the loved ones that are dead. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 95 

Then off again in fancy's flight, 

To school — the place of youthful joy — 

Where merry faces greet my sight, 
Whom once I loved when yet a boy. 

Then on the tented field of Mars, 

Through battle smoke with rallying cry 

Beneath the glorious "stars and bars", 
I strike for Southern liberty. 

Next with the throttle in my hand, 

My throbbing locomotive flies 
From town to town — across the land, 

Like meteor across the skies. 

Then sitting down by Eula's side 

I clasp her little hand in mine ; 
And while the moments swiftly glide, 

I drink the nectar — love divine. 

Such are the scenes that swiftly pass 

Before my fancy in its range, 
Made dim by ** memory's mellowing glass ", 

And proving time's eternal change. 

But folded be my fancy's wings, 

That bear me back to scenes of gladness, 

For now each scene my bosom wrings 
With keenest pangs of grief and sadness. 

Indulging in a boyish freak — 
A wish in other lands to roam, 



9^ FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Now makes my heart grow faint and weak, 
When e'er I breathe the name of home. 

The schoolmates of my boyhood's day, 
From all save memory have fled, 

While many of my friends in gray, 

In camps of death their tents have spread. 

And she for whom I would have died. 
False to her every vow has proved, 

And with the scorn of wounded pride 
I cursed the day I ever loved. 

But there is one with noble heart 
Who faithfully to me has stood, 

And of my cares hath borne a part, 

When spurned by those of nearer blood. 

Yes, noble girl — my Ossie dear, 

What, though I search the world around, 

A heart more true, a face more fair 

Than thine, sweet girl, can ne'er be found. 

And while my heart beats warm and free. 

Whatever skies above me bend, 
Remember, dear, you have in me, 

A cousin and a faithful friend. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 97 

NATALITIA. 



Written before marriage to my wife on the occasion of her 16th 
birthday. 



Just sixteen years have passed away 
Since precious Lizzie's natal day ; 

Just sixteen years since Nature's God 
Looked down from His abode above 

Upon this dreary mundane sod 
And saw it had no queen of love. 

Then, to an angel by his side 
He did the task of love confide 

To search through all the hosts of heaven 
And find the brightest seraph there, 

That she might to the earth be given, 
As reigning queen of all the fair. 

The angel then, with that command, 
Flew round among the angel band. 

And, searching, found — a fairy sprite, 
With raven curls and snowy breast, 

And rosy cheeks and eyes of light, 

Which brighter shown than all the rest. 

And as no fairer could be found ; 

Around that sprite her arms she wound, 
And, spreading forth her wings of white, 
, Flew swiftly down and brought to earth 
That little queen — the fairy sprite. 

And gave to her terrestrial birth. 



98 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And since to earth this queen was born, 
The ranks of beauty to adorn, 

With every year more fair she's grown, 
'Till I have vowed that little elf 

Shall rule but one, and one alone. 
And I shall be that one myself. 



THE CRIMINAL'S COMPLAINT. 



The king of day on radiant car 

Now mounts up in the eastern sky, 

But ere his daily course be done, 

The sleep of death shall close my eye. 

Tried by a jurj and condemned, 

The haughty judge my sentence read, 

Which dooms that I this day shall hang 
By my neck 'til I am dead. 

But is it just, or is it right, 

That I should yield this life of mine 
To atone for an unconscious act, 

Done when my mind was crazed with wine? 

And is it cither fair, or just, 

That he who poisoned me with drink 

Should go unpunished by the law, 
Whilst I must by its sentence sink? 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 99 

For had he robbed me not of mind, 

By giving me the liquid fire, 
I never would have done the crime 

For which I must this day expire. 

Then is he less than I to blame 
In that dark deed of bloody strife. 

Which makes two loving mothers mourn, 
And makes a widow of my wife ? 

No, Heaven's court will grant it not, ' 
Tho' courts of men may so proclaim, 

And in the final judgment day 
He'll not escape an equal blame. 

Then be my curse upon his head. 

Until he feels what I have felt. 
And on him rest my victim's blood. 

Who fell beneath the blow I dealt. 







lOO FOIBLES OF FAN'CY AND 



*SOUTH ROME. 



South Rome, superb, thy mountains grand 
Around thee like great sentinels stand, 
To keep and shield thee from alarm. 
When storms arise and threaten harm ; 
And from their grand, majestic domes 
Look down on smiling, peaceful homes; 
Whilst gushing fountains, pure and bright^ 
Break from thy hills, and in the light 
Of sunbeams sparkling, ever sweet, 
Forever cool, doth lave thy feet 
And yield a glow to every cheek 
For those who come, sweet health to seek. 
But not alone thy lovely mountains. 
Crystal streams and sparkling fountains ; 
These are not half the splendid charms 
Which thou claspest in thine arms ; 
But fairer far than Sharon's fields. 
And all the wealth Golconda yields ; 
More precious, too, than all the wine 
That e'er was brewed from luscious vine ; 
Yea, fairer far than India's pearls 
Thy greatest charm — thy pretty girls. 
God bless them, each and every one, 
No fairer dwell beneath the sun ; 
Then be thy boast thy daughters fair, 
Whose loveliness and beauty rare 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. lOI 

Beggars the power ot pen to tell, 
Each one's a queen — a reigning belle, 
A sweet enchantress be it said, 
Whose footsteps bless the land they tread. 

*Kome, Ga. 



*WAITING AT THE RIVER. 



''Lord, how long shall I have to wait 

Before I cross the river ? "* 
I long to reach that other shore. 

Where I can rest forever. 

My journey. Lord, has been so long, 

Life's wilderness so dreary ; 
My burden's been so hard to bear ; 

My soul is faint and weary. 

Then haste, oh, Lord, to speak the word. 

And bid my waiting cease, 
I fain would leave this dreary shore. 

And reach the land of peace. 

Whilst here I wait, oh, Lord, I bear 
Most grievous griefs and pain. 

My weary soul now turns to thee, 
And pleads that land to gain. 



102 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

'Tis dark and chilly on this shore, 

But over the stream I see 
The sun still shining warm and bright, 

Where loved ones wait for me. 

My heart, oh, Lord, has long been there. 

With all I love the best ; 
Oh, send thy angels, precious Lord, 

And lead me to my rest. 

My father's face I long to see, 

My saintly mother's, too. 
And many children gone before. 

Oh, Lord, are there with you. 

Do, precious Saviour, haste to speak, 

And bid me now to come, 
And join the bright celestial band 

In my eternal home. 

•Almost the last words of my aged father. Rev. Dr. T. IL 
Dozier, while on his dying bed, were : "Oh, I^jrd, how long shall 
I have to wait before I cross the river ?" 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. IO3 



GOOD-BYE SONG TO F. L. STANTON, 



Good-bye, good-bye, dear friend, good-bye, 
God's blessings on thee we implore, 

And speak with a sigh, our parting good-bye, 
As you leave to meet us no more. 

Our joys and cares with us you 've shared 

Revealing a friendship sincere, 
And now as we part, the grief in each heart 

Is shown in a shimmering tear. 

Within our minds we'll ever keep 
Your memory, so precious and dear. 

And time cannot change or ever estrange 
The love you have won from us here. 

Henceforth, afar from us you go, 

Your duteous paths to pursue, 
But oft in our eyes bright tears will arise 

As we think of your last '' adieu ". 

Arid now, good-bye, a last good-bye, 

Our hearts with sweetest sympathies swell. 

Our spirits grow weak, our lips fail to speak — 
Dear friend and companion, farewell. 



104 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 



On every hill and mountain's height, 
Down in earth's dark and shady caves, 

Roaming o'er sandy deserts white, 
On the broad ocean's dashing waves, 

In the bright starry reahn above 
Reigns supreme, the God of love. 

On the sweet voice of flowing rills, 
Amid the roar of rushing tides, 

Nature's faint echoes from her hills, 
Sighing in winds that ne'er abides, 

Descending with the falling rain. 
The voice of love is ever plain. 

On pale Luna's face at night, 

Upon the azure milky way, 
Zone bound in Saturn's mellowed light, 

l^eaming in the Sun's bright ray, 
In beams of Mars and Mercur}', 

I^eautiful in Venus' purity. 

E.xquisite in Jupiter's bright glow. 
Shining Uranus and Neptune too. 
Reveal to us of love, a view. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 10$ 

SHALL I FORGET? 



Shall I forget sweet Dora's face ? 

A face so dear in days gone by, 
Shall I forget her winsome grace, 

The brilliance of her jet black eye ? 
No, whilst my memory keeps its throne, 

I'll curse the day when first we met, 
And though my heart's as cold as stone. 

Her beauty I can ne'er forget. 

From land to land, from sea to sea, 

I've fled without an aim in view. 
But like a dream, where e'er I flee. 

Her haunting face my steps pursue ; 
Her words of scorn and cold disdain 

Within my heart are rankling yet, 
And though I struggle, 'tis in vain, 

Her lovely face I'll ne'er forget. 

But I will not attach a blame. 

To one of such transcendent charms ; 
For heaven itself would blush with shame 

To see such beauty in my arms. 
'Twas fate that taught my youthful heart, 

Its love upon such charms to set, 
But fate can never teach the art 

To change from love and then forget. 



I06 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Then marvel not that on my brow 

The clouds of grief and sorrow rest, 
For love can make the strongest bow, ' 

When that love remains unblest; 
Yes, darker than the shades of hell, 

Is love that lingers in regret, 
No light can e'er its gloom dispel ; 

It never, never can for^ret. 



LOVE'S PLEA. 

When lips to lips, and breast to breast 
In tenderness of love are presssed, 
'Ihere speaks a voice from out the heart, 
That faltering words can ne'er impart; 
And love's sweet music through the voice, 
Makes all within the soul rejoice. 

And thus it ever is with me. 

That when thy rosy lips I sec, 

Or mark the heaving of your breast, 

By virtue and by beauty blest. 

I long to clasp thy heart to mine 

And kiss those wooing lips of thine. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I O7 

But now, alas ! too well I know, 
That such vain thoughts I must forego ; 
Such thoughts I never should have known — 
But nature's thoughts are not my own ; 
And, while each grace you may retain, 
To banish thee, I try in vain. 



LINES TO LULA, 



For three long years of toil and strife. 
But one impulse has filled my breast ; 

One single aim has been my life 
An only hope my heart hath blest. 

And should I now that impulse name, 
Or speak the aim my Hfe hath held, 

Alas ! 'twould be but to proclaim 

That impulse, aim and hope dispelled. 

For thee on whom I gazed with pride, 
To whom I gave my constant heart, 

Hath all thy love to me denied 

And bid me from thy thoughts depart. 

With coldness thou hast spurned my love 
And wrung my heart with grief and pain, 

But it may be that time will prove 
What thou hast lost by thy disdain. 



^OS FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

COULD I THE MUSES' AID BUT CLAIM. 



Could I the muses' aid but claim 
To wake my soul's neglected lyre, 

And thus unveil the hidden flame 
Of my heart's consuming fire. 

I would on fancy's golden wing, 

Soar to some realm with visions fraught, 

And swift returning, with me bring 

From that bright isle the gems of thought. 

And then with glowing words to chime 
Sweet Lula's worth I'd panegyrize, 

That she in mirrowed thoughts sublime. 
Might view herself in glad surprise. 

And paint I would, in hues divine, 

The glory of her winsome face, 
That those who should its light define 

Would worship its Madonna grace. 

And then, with inspiration's touch, 
I'd paint in wreathing glories fair 

The sweet, sweet smile I love so much, 
That some bright angel's kiss left there. 

I hen of each flaming, living page. 

Sparkling with the muses' lore, 
" Penned by poet and by sage," 

None than mine could please her more. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. IO9 

TO MINNIE. 



Tho' thy bright smiling face but twice I have met, 

Its impressions with me I can never forget. 

It will cling to my mind wherever I be, 

And keep me, dear girl, ever thinking of thee. 

When flying by steam o'er the smooth iron rail, 

Or cleaving the wave neath the white spreading sail, 

Wherever I roam, on land or the sea, 

I'll be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

When I view the great mountains eternal with snow, 
Or traverse dark caverns, earth's surface below, 
'Mid whatever scenes, wherever I flee, 
I'll be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

When lightly I trip in the merry quadrille, 

Or fly in the chase over valley and hill, 

'Mid every gay thought, in the height of my glee, 

I'll be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

Should fortune e'er bless me and fill from her store 
My purse and my coffers with bright shining ore. 
As I count o'er the mass, each piece that I see, 
I'll be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 

But should fate, in a mood, some spite to appease, 
Lay my form low with some destroying disease, 
ril smile in defiance of her saddest decree. 
And be happy, dear girl, by thinking of thee. 



I 10 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And when all my labors on earth shall be done, 
And I view the dark shadows of life's setting sun, 
Like an angel beside me, thy face I will -ee, 
And be thinking, dear girl, be thinking of thee. 



LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 



Dear Carrie ! In thy happy days 

When thy hopes and prospects blend, 

When flattery speaks profuse thy praise, 
Let me be to thee a friend. 

And when thou art vexed in mind 
And thy hopes with fears contend. 

Whene'er thou would'st solace find 
Let me be to thee a friend. 

When seeming friends deceive thy trust 
And thy loving heart doth rend 

When all the world's to thee unjust, 
Let me be to thee a friend. 

When care hath settled on thy heart 
And life its joys doth suspend. 

And when from thee thy hopes depart 
Let me be to thee a friind. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. Ill 



When after death thy spirit free 
Doth to realms of hght ascend, 

I'd have thee then remember me, 
Thy truest, dearest, earthly friend. 



LIFE. 

The dew which comes with stars of night 
To glisten in the morning's hght, 
An hour sparkles on the grass. 
And then doth into vapor pass. 

And flowers which in morning bloom 
And lade the air with sweet perfume, 
Live not to see the close of day, 
They lose their charms and pass away. 

The bright rainbow which spans the sky 
An arch of gold it seems on high, 
A moment lingers to our view 
And then bids us a slow adieu. 

The snow which falls with beauteous flake 
Upon the bosom of the lake, 
Quick disappears and leaves no trace 
Of its eternal resting place. 



112 



FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And these are all mere types of life 
In this dark world of foil and strife, 
One day we're born, the next we die. 
And then within the dust we lie. 

But oh, how sweet to feel and know 
That death is but an end of woe, 
That tho' we die upon this earth,' 
Our souls will have a happier birth. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. II3 



'TIS THEN I THINK OF YOU. 



When mock-birds chant their matin lay, 

And the sky's roseate hue, 
Proclaims the dawning of the day, 

'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

And when at noontide's sultry hour 

The sky is one ethereal blue. 
And I have sought my shady bower, 

'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

When night its starry robes reveal, 
And Heaven sheds its glist'ning dew, 

When silence o'er the world doth steal ; 
'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

And when in sleep I chance to dream. 

And dream there's naught to cheer my view, 

Then, waking, see the moon's bright beam, 
'Tis then — 'tis then I think of you. 

And thus my joy in life shall be, 

Whilst memory's chain holds firm and true ; 
Altho' thy face no more I see. 

To sweetly — sweetly think of you. 



114 



FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE FLY LEAF OF 

A BOOK. 



To her whose curls of ebon hue 

Droop o'er shoulders white as snow, 

And from whose eyes, like morning dew, 
Light's brightest scintillations glow. 

Whose lovely checks are soft and fair 
As ever claimed a poet's thought ; 

Whose mind is free from every care, 
Whose soul's with every virtue fraught. 

Whose lovely lips, divinely sweet. 

Are worthy of an angel's kiss, 
And in whose heart such virtues meet 

As fit her for Heaven's courts of bliss. 

Whose form of grace outvies the swan, 
That swims upon the glassy stream. 

And whose sweet thoughts from dawn to dawn 
Are bright and pure as angel's dream. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. II5 



MY LIFE IS LIKE A SHIP AT SEA. 



My life is like a ship at sea, 

That wrestles with the storm in vain, 
Which only mounts one rising swell 

To be cast down in gulfs again. 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

With compass lost and shivered mast ; 
Tossed here and there upon the waves. 

A wreck that tells of tempests past. 

My life is like a ship at sea, 
A lonely barque without a sail. 

Deserted by unfriendly crew. 
And left to perish in the gale. 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

Which madly stems the driving blast. 
But far away from friendly port. 

Is doomed to fail and sink at last. 

My life is like a ship at sea. 

That soon will sink beneath the wave, 
And, sinking, leave no sign or trace 

Of its eternal resting grave. 



Il6 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

LINES SENT WITH A BOUQUET TO 
LULA C. 



Go ! ye sweet and gentle flowers, 

To her, your queen, more fair than ye, 

And speak with thy celestial powers, 
And bid her kindly think of me. 

With your fair charms entrance her eyes, 
And bless her with your sweet perfume ; 

And when in dreaming sleep she lies, 
Keep silent vigils in her room. 

And if by dreams disturbed in mind 
In whispers she should speak of me, 

Send back your spirits on the wind 
And tell me what her dreamings be. 

And, oh, what rapture 'twill impart. 
If she but softly breathe my name ; 

'Twill cheer my poor, despairing heart, 
And soothe my love's consuming flame. 

Yes, go, fair messengers of love. 

And speak with all thy emblems true ; 

With fragrant charms her heart assure 
That 1 my sacred vows renew. 

And if she but interpret right 

The message that thy emblems tell, 

'Twill make her gentle eyes grow bright. 
And all her cruel doubts dispel. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. II7 



TO 



Dear M . we have parted forever, 

And the bonds which once bound me to thee 

My duty has bid me to sever, 

And to cast them forever from me. 

No more thy hand will I press — 

Never more thy lips will I kiss ; 
Thy form I no more will caress. 

For now 't were unhallowed bliss. 

Thy heart no longer mine own — 

Of thy love no more can I boast. 
For it to another has flown, 

And from me forever is lost. 

But the loss I cannot regret, 

Since thy bliss is a pleasure to me ; 

And much joy may thy new love beget, 
I'll rejoice in the pleasure with thee. 

When thy lover shall stand by thy side, 
And hold thee close clasped to his breast. 

And call thee his own loving bride, 

I will pray that thy loves may be blessed. 



Il8 FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

THERE IS NO GOD. 



The fool hath said there is no God 

But how should that fool know, 
Unless all space he had explored. 

In nature high and low ; 
For if there be one spot or space 

Unknown in worlds or air, 
He cannot prove there is no God, 

For may be God is there. 

To know, indeed, there is no God 

All force that fool must know. 
The power that sends the cyclones forth. 

And hurls the lightning's blow ; 
For all that he or I can tell. 

Or whence they had their source, 
Amounts to nothing but a guess, 

And God may be that force. 

Then if he knows all space and force. 

Himself a God must be. 
For none but one omnipotent 

Could so much know or see ; 
And he, indeed, is but a fool. 

Who this great truth denies. 
That there is one great living God, 

For nature proves he lies. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I I9 



INVOCATION. 



Thy aid, oh God, to break the speli, 

To lift the veil which shrouds the breast , 

That grieving hearts may speak and tell 
The throes by which they are distressed. 

Oh, touch thou, with thy loving hand, 
"The weeping lyre of the heart," 

And bid our souls with love expand 
For him who from us did depart. 

Oh, grant Thou light unto our minds 
To sing the worth of one so brave, 

Whose soul too pure for earth's confines, 
Escaped to heaven through the grave. 

Renew, oh God, our faith in Thee ; 

Inspire our souls with sacred love, 
So that, when death shall set us free, 

We'll meet the missing one above. 



120 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



COULD I FORGET? 



Could I forget, could I forget 

One fair false face that haunts me still, 
My last few days of waning life 

Might find some joy my heart to thrill ; 
And fondly dreaming, as of yore, 

On scenes of bliss by love made blest, 
I'd calmly drift adown life's stream 

Till death's oblivion gave me rest. 

But, ah, poor me ! while life shall last, 

While thought and memory keeps its throne, 
No fond, sweet dream, no wistful hope. 

Within my breast shall e'er be known ; 
For disappointment and despair. 

That came to me long years ago. 
Have stamped an impress on my heart. 

And filled my soul with bitter woe. 

And now to me it matters not 

What course on earth my steps pursue ; 
No friends I seek, no foes I shun. 

But knowing death is sure and true, 
I bear my lot as best I may, 

And, longing, wait for that sweet day. 
When life shall flutter from my breast. 

And death's oblivion brings me rest. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 121 

BEAUTIFUL ROME, 



In a beautiful vale, 

Where the rivers unite, 
Surrounded by mountains. 

Majestic in height, 
Where old Alto, superb. 

Looks down from his dome, 
Is the fairest of cities — 

Our beautiful Rome. 

A queen of the valley, 

She lifts her fair head 
To view the rich treasures 

That round her are spread, 
And invites all the world, 

In search of a home. 
To come and be welcome 

In beautiful Rome. 

In her arms are embraced 

Great mountains of wealth. 
And from her fair bosom 

Flow fountains of health ; 
Whilst two rushing rivers 

Lave her feet with their foam, 
And ever sing praises 

To beautiful Rome. 

With her fair, queenly charms 
She attracts the world's eyes; 



122 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

With each move of her hand 
She awakes a surprise, 

For she has but to touch 
Her rich valleys of loam, 

And their riches fill up 
The coffers of Rome. 

Yea, she has but to speak, 

Or to touch with her wand, 
And railroads spring forth 

From her magical hand ; 
Whilst factory and furnace 

Unite with a hum 
To swell the grand chorus 

Of beautiful Rome. 



THE BALLOT. 



On which side are you, my brother? 

Tis your ballot that will tell. 
And will count for you in Heaven, 

Or against you deep in Hell. 

Are you on the side of morals, 
Of temperance and the right ? 

Or are you for the traffic 

Your poor fellow-men to blight ? 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 123 

Are you on the side of Jesus, 

With a love for fellow-man, 
Or helping on his ruin. 

By your aid to whisky's clan ? 

Are you with the weak and helpless, 

Whom sorrow doth impress ? 
Or do you, by your ballot, 

Still sanction their distress ? 

Are you on the side of safety 
For the mother, child and wife ? 

Or are you for the hellish drink. 
That causes want and strife? 

Are you for the pure and moral. 

Who delight in doing good ? 
Or for whisky, rum and riot — 

For tears and sighs and blood? 

Are you for the church and Bible, 

And God's sweet, holy will ? 
Or are you tor the wicked laws 

That license men to kill ? 

Can you vote the drunkard's ticket ? 

Then, on bended knees, at night 
Ask God to bless your ballot. 

And to keep your vote in sight. 



124 FOIBLES OF FANCV AND 

That in the awful judgment day, 
When called before His throne 

To receive your final sentence, 

* ' You may reap as you have sown. 

On which side are you, my brother? 

Will you pause awhile and think, 
Ere you slight your God and mercy 

For the devil's fatal drink? 

Whatever be your answer 
Your vote will surely tell. 

And will count for you in Heaven, 
Or 'gainst you deep in Hell. 

Yes, God will read the ballots. 
Each and every one that's cast ; 

And those that glorify Him not 
The soul will help to blast. 







RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 12$ 

SOME DAY. 



Some day, I know, but know not when. 
My pulsing heart will cease to beat, 

My weary hands will cease their toil ; 
The quick step of my hurrying feet 

Will no more echo in my home, 

Nor loved ones list to hear me come. 

Some day, I know, but know not when. 
The sombre hearse will reach my door, 

And friends with muffled tread will come. 
Whom I, alas! shall see no more. 

And bear me off unto my tomb. 

And leave me there in silent gloom. 

Some day my loved ones, left behind, 
Will come to where in death I sleep, 

And, placing flowers upon my grave. 
Will linger there awhile to weep — 

And breathe for me a silent prayer. 
But I shall never know them there. 

Some day, I know, oh, sad the thought ! 

My friends and loved ones, too, will be 
All cold and pulseless in their tombs, 

And none on earth remembering me 
Will ever speak or hear my name, 

For I must die unknown to fame. 



126 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Some day the stone that marks my grave, 
That tells my date of death and birth 

Will, too, have crumbled into dust, 
And not a vestige here on earth 

Will then be left to tell the tale 

That e'er I crossed life's troubled vale. 

But far beyond each trembling star, 
Now twinkling in the Heavenly dome, 

My soul, released from earthly woes, 
Shall mount to my eternal home. 

Where I shall join the Heavenly choir, 
And sing the praise of my Messiah. 



NO COMPROMISE FOR ME. 



Talk not to me of compromise, 

I loathe, I hate the very word. 
It is the strongest arm of him 

By whom the fires of hell are stirred. 
Old Satan never smiles so bright, 

Nor darker gloams the frowning skies, 
Than when men split the right in twain 

And call that action "compromise." 

What, tho' my cause shall ne'er prevail 
I still can bravely bear defeat, 

A victor's crown I'd scorn to wear 
If I must stoop that crown to greet; 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 12/ 

No, let me live and let me die 

In conscious practice of the right, 
My soul unsullied by my vote, 

No act of mine a home shall blight. 

Whate'er is right, must right remain, 

Whate'er is wrong must still so be, 
No policy for sake of gain 

Can make the right with wrong agree. 
Then be your license high or low. 

Your whisky dens are still the same. 
Like whited sepulchres without, 

Within there's naught but death and shame. 

Tho' dastard dotards humbly bow, 

And bend the weak, the suppliant knee, 
Tho' coward cravens cry for peace, 

And talk to me of policy ; 
I yield to nothing short of truth. 

No sort of compromise I take; 
I dare to stand up for the right, 

Tho' cravens all the right forsake. 

And as for me and for my house, 

Tho' ballot-beaten still we stand. 
Unmoved, unchanged, unconquered still, 

With love for God and fellow-man. 
Resolved our purpose ne'er to yield. 

Nor cease to work, nor cease to fight, 
'Till gloriously we've won the field 

For God, for justice and for right. 



128 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

LINES TO J. L. T. 



O, tell me not this lovely world 
Is all made up of vain deceit ; 

That love is all a fickle charm, 

And friendship's nothing^ but a cheat. 

Nor tell me, yet, that man was made 
For naught but labor and for strife ; 

That he's deception, in himself, 
And there's no constancy in life. 

But rather tell me if you will 

That this strong body hath no soul. 

And that the God who made the world 
Hath not, above it all, control. 

But speak not thus in idle jest, 
No words like these can I believe. 

Whilst I can boast one faithful friend 
Who'd rather perish than deceive. 

A noble, generous friend, is he, 
With ready hand for every task ; 

For anything, at any time. 

To give, or do, what I may ask. 

No sordid craven heart he bears, 
But best impulses fill his breast; 

And when I've needed most a friend. 
He's always stood the firmest test. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I2g 

He's generous, too, to every fault, 

And brave as ever armed knight ; 
Disdaining all the world might say, 

Content to do what's just and right. 

And modest as he's good and brave. 
He seeks not vain and empty show ; 

But scorns alike the flattering tongue 
And dangers of a skulking foe. 

Then tell me not that life's a myth. 
That sincere friendship is unknown ; 

For one such friend, as Johnnie is. 
To live for, is enough alone. 




130 



FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



TO LIZZIE. 

Thy pretty face, 

Thy lovely grace, 
And all thy winsome charms, 

With cunning art 

Allures my heart, 
And all my hope alarms. 

* 

Thy lovely smiles. 

Thy playful wiles. 
And thy coquettish airs. 

Entrance my eyes. 

Awake my sighs. 
And fill my breast with cares. 

Thy silvery voice. 

Thy words so choice. 
When ringing out in songs, 

Breaks on my ear, 

So sweetly, dear, 
My heart their joy prolongs. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I3I 

THE MURDERED WIFE. 



A poor woman, the mother of a young babe, died in Rome 
several days ago, and her father testified that her death was the re- 
sult of a beating at the hands of her drunken husband. 



Behold, ye '* anti-prohi's, " 
Your work is well begun ; 

A murdered mother's blood 
Now stains the cause you won. 

A helpless little infant, 

In piteous hunger cries, 
Whilst its mother's bloody form 

In yonder graveyard lies. 

'Twas a husband in his frenzy, 

By whisky driven wild, 
Who struck that mother down — 

Made an orphan of his child. 

And on you, my *'anti" friends, 
Who voted ''for the sale," 

Must rest the awful crime 
When justice shall prevail. 

For at the Bar of Judgment, 

When God shall call your name, 

You'll not escape his vengeance, 
For to you belongs the blame. 



132 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

'Twas the sanction of your ballot 
That licensed men to sell, 

And the selling brought about 
That bloody deed of hell. 

And that poor murdered mother, 
At the bar beyond the sky, 

Will be a witness 'gainst you 
When you are called to die. 



BE CAREFUL HOW YOU TREAD. 



In walking through earth's verdant fields, 

Be careful where you tread, 
Don't crush the little flowers 

While gazing overhead. 
The stars I know are brighter far 

Than flowers that deck the sod, 
But both the flowers and the stars 

Are handiworks of God. 

And in the fields of human life. 

Oft found in humble ways, 
The pure in heart, the mild and good 

Escape our upward gaze, 
And in our rush and wild pusuit 

Of best in social skies, 
We sometimes crush a noble heart 

That Heaven itself would prize. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 33 

INFELICE. 



I sometimes wake in the night time, 

And visions come crowding- my brain, 
Which burden my soul with sadness, 

And which I resist but in vain. 
The path of my Hfe's long journey 

A trail through a desert appears. 
Where the thorns, the thistles and stones 

Are bathed with my blood and my tears. 

All along are the wrecks and the ruins 

Of my prospects gone to decay. 
Of idols I loved and cherished. 

All broken and left by the way. 
But then, through my tear-dimmed vision. 

That path trending upward I see. 
To a home of pleasure and rest 

Where loved ones are waiting for me. 

So gathering my remnants of faith, 

And hugging them close to my breast. 
As beggars draw closer their rags, 

When by cold and hunger oppressed. 
I look no longer behind me. 

But my gaze still upward I bend. 
Heedless of what I encounter, 

Resolved to push on to the end. 



I^^ FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

MY MOTHER'S HEART. 

Tis sweet to feel, what e'er betide, 
When friends forsake and foes deride, 
That one warm heart beats for me still ; 
One heart, which only death can chill. 

When somber gloom and cares oppress. 
And bitter griefs my soul distress, 
Tis solace sweet to feel and know 
That faithful heart still shares my woe. 

It matters not what fate be mine, 
What star of destiny may shine. 
Give fate her mood to frown or smile, 
From me that heart naught can beguile. 

For when grief's bitter cup I've quaffed. 
And writhed beneath a sland'rous shaft, 
Or by ingratitude been stung, 
That heart to me hath fondly clung. 

And when upon a bed of pain 
Consuming fevers burned my brain. 
And death came near— oh, hideous thing- 
That heart was then my sheltering wing. 

And now what e'er be fate's decree 
Of good or bad in store for me, 
I reck not, but let come what will. 
Since that fond heart is constant still. 






RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 35 

And when I've done at last with earth, 
Where claimed by sorrow since my birth, 
I hope to see Heaven's portals part 
And rest once more on mother's heart. 



TIME. 

Roll on, roll on, eternal time! 1 

All nature bows to thee. 
The mountains and the hills sublime. 

The rivers and the sea 
Shall mingle in one common wreck. 

And earth shall pass away. 
Ere thou thy wasting course shall check, 

Or thy destructions stay. 

Coeval with the God-head born, 

Coeval with his reign. 
All human fame thou laugh'st to scorn. 

All monuments disdain ; 
Thou see'st nations rise and fall, 

And empires cease to be ; 
O'er burned out world's thou spread'st a pall 

Of darkness like to thee. 






136 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Go, puerile man, nor deign to boast 

Thy strength or high estate ; 
Suns, moons and stars in darkness lost 

By time's ordaining fate, 
Shall leave a black and empty void. 

Where once they bright revolved ; 
And all that is shall be destroyed, 

Ere time shall be dissolved. 



FAITH. 

Beyond the golden sunset 

Of life's departing day 
1 see a star ascending 

With ever brightening ray ; 
Transcendent in its beauty, 

For Faith has made it known. 
The beacon of my maker 

To lead me to His throne. 

And, arching o'er the heavens, 

The bow of peace I see, 
And in it read the promise 

Which God has made to me ; 
For I have had the deluge 

Of sin's repentant tears 
And I rest upon Moriah, 

Where the cross of Christ appears. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 3/ 

I DO NOT KNOW. 



Sometimes I pause in awful doubt 

That God e'er answers prayer, 
And ask, if so, why my poor heart 

Is left to its despair ; 
And why, if God can hear and aid 

The plea of those distressed, 
There comes no peace to break the gloom 

That burdens my poor breast. 
For earnestly I've sought in vain. 

Through prayer's most fluent flow. 
But why my pleas are answered not, 

I do not know, I do not know. 

And when I sink into the tomb. 

Shall I yet rise again ? 
Shall sentient soul rebel with earth 

And breaking death's cold chain, 
Leave cold, Corrupting clay behind 

And mount to other spheres ; 
Or sleep in apathetic dust 

Through time's eternal years. 
Forgetful and forgot of earth 

With all its joys and woe ? 
Alas, though oft I question thus, 

I do not know, I do not know\ 

Beneath my own fair sunny skies, 
Beyond my native land, 



138 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

'Neath alien stars, in lands afar, 

Beyond old ocean's strand, 
I've sought to learn what might be known 

Of God's most holy plan. 
To purge the world of wickedness 

And sav^e the souls of man ; 
But priests and preachers prate of creeds 

No light can they bestow, 
And still in darkness, I confess, 

I do not know, I do not know. 



A DREAM THAT WAS NOT A DREAM. 



Beside my sweet darling's grave in the city of the 

dead, 
I sat until the sinking sun's last ray of light had fled ; 
And all alone, I heeded not the ebbing of the day, 
For my heart was in the grave, and my thoughts 

were far away. 

One by one, the little stars came forth, twinkling 
overhead, 

Until the whole of heaven was with beauty over- 
spread ; 

The moon, then like a silver ship, came mounting up 
above. 

And floated gently onward, as if moved by hands of 
love. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 39 

Bright flowers, blooming round me, lent a sweetness 

to the air, 
But I heeded not their fragrance, nor noticed they 

were there ; 
And there beside the grave, where silence reigned 

supreme, 
O'ercome at last by weeping, I slept and had a 

dream. 

I saw the heavens part — heard a sound of thunder 

loud. 
Then saw descending earthward a shining silver 

cloud ; 
And rechning on that cloud, with bright angels by 

her side, 
I recognized my darling, my sweet angelic bride. 

And as the cloud came slowly down, such music filled 

my ears 
As I never, never heard before upon this vale of 

tears ; 
And when it came to where I was, it seemed there to 

divide, 
And my sweet, angelic darling left sitting by my 

side. 

Around her forehead twined a wreath of softest glow- 
ing light, 

And the raiment that she wore was a robe of spot- 
less white ; 

Halo's of radiant light all round about us shone. 



^^40 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And the music of her voice was Hke the Zithern's 
sweetest tone. 

She told me of a place above, a happy spirit land, 
Where everything is beautiful, majestical and grand; 
Where the God of nature sits on a glory beaming 
throne, 

Where life is life eternal, and where sorrow is un- 
known. 

She told me of friends and kindred all dweUino- 

there above. 
And from each she brought a message to remind me 

of their love ; 
Then bidding me good-bye, said she'd wait me on 

the shore 

Of that bright land celestial where there's parting 
never more. 

Then on that cloud I saw her take a gentle upward 

flight. 
And watching 'till she reached the sky, she vanished 

from my sight; 
And tho' I knew 't was all a dream, a delusion of the 

brain, 

I cannot yet help wishing she may come in dreams 
again. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I4I 

A SIGH FOR THE SEA. 



Oh, give me a home by the deep, blue sea, 

The ocean all boundless and wide, 
Let me list to the sounds that ever resound 

In its every sweet, murmuring tide ; 
Let me wake at morn, its breakers to hear, 

At night let it lull me to sleep, 
In its murmurs, though drear, there's music to cheer. 

When my heart seems melting to weep. 

I long to walk by the surf-beaten shore, 

And to gaze o'er the watery main 
Which beats on the strand of my own native land. 

That never shall know me again ; 
For tho' a poor exile, wandering afar. 

Unfriended, unloved I must roam. 
My heart ever yearns and longingly turns 

To the ocean-bound isle of my home. 

Then marvel ye not that I sigh for a place 

On the shores of the deep, blue sea. 
For each billow that gleams a messenger seems 

From the land that is dearest to me ; 
And I hear in each breeze that comes o'er the seas. 

The voice of a loved one fair, 
Who, waiting so long for her lover's return, 

Has gone to her grave in despair. 



142 FOIBLES OF FAN'CY AND 

And now all the joy in life that I ask, 

Is to walk and muse by the sea, 
Whose every low surge is a funeral dirge 

For that loved one now lost to me ; 
And to gaze o'er the main, with longings tho' vain, 

And to mingle my tears with the wave 
Which the tides in their sweep should bear o'er the 
deep, 

To moisten the grass on her grave. 



DRIFTING AWAY. 



Drifting, drifting, every day, 
Down life's current, drifting away ; 
Kings and slaves — the grave and the ga)'. 
All on board and drifting away. 

Both saints and sinners all the same, 
The men unknown, and men of fame; 
All the cowards, and all the brave, 
Are drifting onward to the grave. 

Nor love nor wealth their course can stay, 
Not even a year, nor yet a day ; 
Whilst some drift fast, drift others slow, 
lUit drifting onward all must go. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I43 

Youth and beauty cannot avail, 
Nor earthly powers can aught prevail ; • 
No priestly prayers, nor precious gift 
Can stay the tide on which we drift. 

Hear that poor mother how she pleads, 
"With broken, wounded heart that bleeds; 
For little loved one gone to rest 
From its weak moorings at her breast. 

And hear the father's anguish wild. 
In mourning for that precious child; 
But father's grief nor mother's pain 
Can call their loved one back again. 

Mark yon pale cheek with hectic flush, 
Where passion once was wont to blush ; 
And all love's fervency portray. 
Now soon in death to drift away. 

What tho' her lover's heart should break, 
What tho' he'd die for her dear sake ; 
His breaking heart no anchor proves, 
To stay the tide on which she moves. 

The young, the old, the high, the low, 
A drifting down this stream must go ; 
'Neath spreading sails of deathly pall 
This voyage must be made by all. 



144 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

The sea to which we hither trend, 
With every foe and every friend ; 
Is that dark, shoreless, boundless sea, 
The dark, unknown eternity ! 



IN PARADISE. 



Dedicated to mv friend, Dr. P. K, McMiller. 



In a deep, unbroken forest, beside a flowing stream, 
I laid me down one afternoon, and, sleeping had a 

dream ; 
The pearly gates of paradise were open to my view. 
And I saw therein the faces that once on earth I 

knew. 

No jeweled king or beaded priest did there my vision 

trace. 
No warrior with his sword and plume, with epaulets 

and lace ; 
No tattered coat on pauper's back, no miser with his 

gold. 
Nor any signs of earthly pomp did I therein behold. 

But every one was robed alike, both of great and 
lowly birth — 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 145 

Only crowns o( different lustre told their stage of vir- 
tuous worth, 

And those who had ten talents sat nearer to the 
throne 

Than did the more unfortunate, who never had but 
one. 

For in Heaven, as on earth, talents supremely reign, 
For God loves wisdom better than he does a shallow 

brain ; 
And according as the talents are improved, which 

he has given. 
So must be their lot and rank with the angel hosts of 

Heaven. 

Some brighter far than others shone, but all were 

bright with grace, 
No cloud of grief on any brow could there my vision 

trace ; 
I saw the Christian and the Jew, united hand in 

hand, 
Dwelling in unbroken peace in that celestial land. 

I saw distinctive features of every human race, 

And types of every nation in that sweet, holy place ; 

Yes, there were men of every tribe, of every rank 

and creed. 
Whose tasks on earth had been to do their great 

Creator's meed. 

10 



146 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

I saw the wild barbarian, and the untaught heathen 

there, 
Who were not saved by water, by crucifix nor 

prayer ; 
All dwelt in peace together, from priestly hells apart, 
For God had known their talents, and judged them 

by the heart. 

In supremacy of justice, and in mercy's boundless 

sway, 
God, with love and charity, had swept their sins 

away. 
And there, in blissful union, where troubles ne'er 

appall, 
They praised the great Jehovah, whose hand had 

saved them all. 

Yes, he who made this world, 'mid ten thousand 

worlds to roll. 
Whose hands created heaven, a^d man with deathless 

soul, 
Who controlls the mighty oceans, which stretch from 

pole to pole. 
Never made or framed a creed to damn a human soul. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I47 



JACK FROST. 



Old Jack Frost has come, his footprints are seen 
O'er broad grassy plains that were lately so green, 
And, kissed by his lips, his cold, icy breath 
Has left on the forests the shadows of death ; 
And the few gentle flowers yet left us in bloom, 
Are drooping like angels knelt over a tomb ; 
But the ripe, golden fruit, which summer has left, 
Requites us for all that its beauties bereft ; 
And this but illustrates a fact that I've seen. 
When loved ones have gone like the summer's bright 
green. 

They to Heaven may go, or to , just where they 

please. 
But the gold which they leave doth all sorrow ap- 
pease. 



148 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



LOVE. 



An Acrostic. 



Love, oh, thou heart-consuming flame,. 
Inspired not by wealth or fame, 
Zest of every noble claim, 
Zealous in thy boundless aim. 
Inspiration taught thy name. 
Eternal Gods thy wealth proclaim. 

Purest type from Heaven's mould. 
On maiden's lips thou art extolled, 
Wisdom to thy precepts fold. 
Evinced through life's endearing hold,. 
Rejected not by young nor old, 
Sure, all thy strength was never told. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I49 



FORGET ME NOT. 



Forget me not whilst memory's chain 
Holds sacred, firm and true, 

Nor let thy heart be steeped in pain 
If I can bear its pain for you. 

Forget me not whilst in thy heart 
Thy life's blood ebbs and flows, 

Nor let from thee my name depart — 
Forbid me not to share thy woes. 

Forget me not where 'erst thou be. 

Whatsoever fate be thine. 
On desert's shore or lonely sea. 

Remember love that I am thine. 

Forget me not when shades of death 
Shall dwell upon thy breast. 

But with thy last departing breath. 
Remember me who loves thee best. 



150 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



BLITHESOME LITTLE LIBBY. 



Pretty little skating girl, 
Fairest in the mazy whirl, 
Winsome, charming and as fair 
And graceful as bird of air — 
Blithesome little Libby. 

Pretty little skating belle, 
Playful as a young gazelle. 
Brightly beams, her hazel eyes 
As around the rink she flies, 
Blithesome little Libby. 

Pretty little skating queen. 
Fairer form was never seen, 
Like a vision in a dream — 
Memories of her doth seem — 
Blithesome little Libby. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I5I 



LINES TO DORA. 



For three long years of toil and strife, 
But one impulse hath filled my breast, 

One only aim has been my life. 

An only hope my heart hath blest. 

But should I now that impulse name. 
Or breathe the aim my life hath held, 

Alas, 'twould be but to proclaim 

That impulse, aim, and hope, dispelled. 

For thou on whom I gazed with pride, 
To whom I gave my constant heart, 

Hath at the last thy love denied 

And bid me from thy thoughts depart. 

With coldness thou hast spurned my love 
And wrung my heart with keenest pain. 

But, by the Gods ! in time I'll prove 
What thou hast lost by thy disdain. 



152 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

TILL I COME BACK AGAIN. 



No, I'll not forget you darling, 

Though roaming far away, 
Your loving smile shall light my path 

Wherever I may stray ; 
And every loving word of thine 

Shall e'er with me remain, 
And banish every gloomy thought 

Till I come back again. 

The many happy days w^ith you 

Were all too quickly past, 
They were so full of blissful joy 

I knew they could not last ; 
But in my heart a star of hope 

Shines, not I trust in vain, 
And by its light I'll steer my course 

Till I come back again. 

In lands afar beyond the sea 

My fate may be to roam, 
And weeks and months and years may pass 

Ere I turn back to home ; 
But thy bright face in memory set 

Shall never dim nor wane, 
Or lose its charm to light my soul 

Till I come back again. 

'Tis only for your sake, my dear, 
Thut I must leave you now. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I 53 

So let me kiss and clear away 

The clouds upon your brow, 
Then with your blessing let me go, 

Stern fortune's smiles to gain, 
And vow once more, you'll constant prove 

Till I come back again. 

Then should misfortunes overtake 

And pall me with dismay, 
This thought a talisman shall be 

To break all evil's sway. 
It is your promise to be mine, 

And like some sweet refrain 
Will ever echo in my heart, 

Till I come back again. 

Now. au revoir, but not farewell, 

With one last kiss of love, 
To be a seal upon the vow^ 

That you will constant prove. 
And that no other loving swain 

Shall in your heart obtain 
The place that I so fondly claim 

Till I come back again. 



154 



FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

WELCOME SONG. 



All hail ! Great Incohonee, 

Great Sachem, wise and true, 
Our warriors, braves and chieftains 

Most gladly welcome you, 
In Freedom and in Friendship 

United firm and strong. 
We gladly hail our chieftain. 

With this our Welcome song. 

Chorus — 

Then welcome to our wigwam. 

Our hearts are warm and true, 
Come share our corn and venison^ 
And drink our skila-wa-boo. 

Within these fertile valleys. 

And on these verdant plains. 
The tomahawk we've buried 

And peace and plenty reigns. 
Our paths but lead to pleasure, 

No war whoop here resounds. 
And now we bid you welcome. 

To these our hunting grounds, 

Chorus — 

Our hunters are the truest 

That ever grasped a bow, 
Our warriors are the bravest 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 55 

That ever faced a foe. 
Our squaws and our papooses, 

And all our maidens bright, 
Will hail you, Incohonee, 

With rapture and delight. 

Chorus— 



MY LOSAHATCHIE* HOME. 



In these times of awful panic 

(Strikes are heard of everywhere) » 
While congress sits and piddles, 

And starvation seems to stare. 
When all business goes to pieces 

And the devil 's on a tear, 
In vain I long for refuge 

From my troubles and my care. 

And my heart is filled with longing 

For that dear old mountain stream, 
Losahatchie, on whose surface. 

Like a vision in a dream, 
I can always see reflected 

Mount Coloma's rugged dome. 
And the little vine-clad cottage 

That I used to call my home. 



156 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Even now in heart I'm longing 

To go back there once more, 
And with line and pole to wander 

All along its shady shore, 
Where, as a careless, barefoot boy, 

I once was wont to roam. 
When life was free from sorrow, 

In my Losahatchie home. 

! the promises that wooed me. 
And lured me from that stream, 

How false, and, oh ! how empty 
Those promises now seem. 

All the promised wealth and honors 
That e'en tempted me to roam, 

1 would gladly now relinquish 

For my Losahatchie home. 

Yes, my dear old Losahatchie ! 

Since I wandered from thy shore, 
The world has not all seemed to be 

What I dreimed in days of yore. 
And thy cooling shades and fountains, 

And thy vales of fertile loam 
Now fills my soul with longing 

For my Losahatchie home. 



Yes, yes ; oh, Losahatchie ! 

Thou queen of mountain streams. 
How often I revisit thee 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 15/ 

In my nightly troubled dreams, 
To lave my fevered temples 

In thy cooling spray and foam, 
'Neath thy spreading beech and maples, 

At my Losahatchie home. 

*Losahatchie is the name of a beautiful mountain stream in North 
Alabama. 



THE VALE OF LOSAHATCHIE. 



O, the vale of Losahatchie, 

How I long to be there now, 
To bathe my fevered temples 

And to cool my aching brow. 
In the clear and limpid waters 

Of the old Coloma's spring. 
And to rest within the shade. 

While the birds above me sing. 

I am tired with the turnult 

Of the city's noisy din ; 
With the struggle for existence, 

And the babbling tongues of men, 
And I long for that old valley. 

With its peace and plenty blest. 
And to make my home once more 

In the old parental nest. 



158 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

No breaking banks could bring dismay 

In that old valley grand ; 
With plow I'd write my honest checks 

And drafts on fertile land, 
While that great banker, nature's God, 

Whose wealth is seas and main, 
Would principal and interest pay 

Tenfold in golden grain. 

And when old Sol had ploughed his course 

Across the heavenly way, 
And old Coloma's mountain top 

Lit up with golden ray ; 
How sweet would be my night's repose 

And undisturbed my dream, 
Soothed there by notes of nightingale, 

And lulled by murmuring stream. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 59 

HAIL ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 



Dedicated to the members of Emmet Club and my many esteemed 
Irish friends. 



Hail ! all hail, St. Patrick's day ! 

And hail to Erin's glory, 
A matchless land, of heroes grand, 

Who live in song and story. 
O, patron saint of wondrous land. 

Thy name shall be immortal. 
And light the way through endless day 

To Heaven's blessed portal. 

Oh, sainted man of wondrous mind, 

Filled with an inspiration, 
By Heaven lent and Heaven sent 

To civiHze a nation. 
And where on earth is there a land 

To-day that does not claim 
On history's page some saint or sage — 

Some glorious Irish name ? 

And hail ! all hail ! to that green flag. 

Old Erin's sacred treasure ; 
Four hundred years, through strife and tears 

And bloodshed without measure. 
It floats to-day without a stain. 

An alien though it be, 
A tale to tell of freedom's knell, 

As doth the flag of Lee. 



l6o FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

Yes, hail ! all hail ! to Erin's flag. 

Exiled though now it be, 
In other climes and other times 

That flag shall yet be free, 
And float as proudly to the breeze 

As when unfurled of yore, 
For God's decreed it shall be freed 

And float forevermore ! 

Then hark! oh, hark, ye Irish sonsf 

Behold your country bleeding, 
While saints above and sires you love 

With you her cause is pleading. 
And bid you, by the sacred ties 

Of all that's dear on earth, 
To break in twain the tyrant's chain, 

And free your land of birth. 

Then grasp, oh, grasp the glorious flag 
. That bears no blot of shame. 
And swear by love of God above 

And by St. Patrick's name, 
That you will ne'er forsake its cause 

Till it in triumph waves. 
That o'er the foam you'll bear it home. 

Or bear it to your graves. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. l6l 

THE EVENING PRAYER. 



'Twas grandma taught our little girl, 

Our four- year darling May, 

Her "Now I lay me down to sleep," 

On bended knee to pray. 

'' If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take ;" 

And then to close the evening prayer. 

Would have her add thereto : 

God bless my grandma Smith, 

Grandpa Smith and Uncle Joe, 

My grandpa White and grandma White, 

And (other names) good night. 

One evening at her grandma's knee, 

When tired out with play, 

The little darling bowed her head 

Her evening prayer to say, 

She finished out the little rhymes, 

And blessings then began, 

With "damma Smith and dampa White, 

And dampa Smith," and here the light 

Shut out by drooping lids, 

She added in her innocence, 

(Without thought of fun or jokes), 

**Dam— dam— and all my dam tinfolkes." 



11 



1 52 FOIBLES OF FAN'CY AND 

''OUR ORDER HERE." 



In response to a toast. 



But I forget. 'Tis not of our fair city and her 
matchless wealth, by lavish hand of God bestowed, 
that I would speak, 

But 'tis of something nobler, far — 

A jewel bright — a shining star — 

The brightest gem which decks her brow, 

Is that which I would champion now. 

But should I speak, as well I might, 

Of furnaces whose fires bright 

Make noonday of our darkest night 

And paint the skies with lurid light. 

Or tell how wondrous here combine 

The wealth of coal and iron mines, 

And how our manufactures great 

The riches bring from every State ; 

Or, boastful, tell in wondrous tale 

The matchless glories of this vale, 

Your pardon just I might receive, 

Tho' some, perchance, would scarce believe. 

For such the story 'twould but seem 

Like fiction or a summer's dream. 

But, as I said, 'tis not of these 

I'll speak ; my hearers now to please. 

A grander theme my soul inspires 

And warms me with ennobling fires, 

My theme is of our order grand. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 63 

The noblest in this glorious land. 

And tho' our numbers are but few, 

Each Knight is valiant, brave and true, 

And counts but wasted ev'ry sun 

Which sees not some good action done, 

Some noble act or generous deed 

In keeping with our order's creed. 

For Knights of Honor ever hold 

Kind actions more than finest gold. 
To shield the widows and provide 
For orphans is our greatest pride ; 
To raise the fallen, help the weak. 
And dry the tear on mourner's cheek ; 
To help our brothers in distress. 
And ev'ry home we enter, bless ; 
To carry sunshine and relief 
Wherever hang the clouds of grief. 
Reviving hope and stilling fear, 
These are our daily missions here. 
To sit beside the bed of pain 
When fever burns a brother's brain 
And nurse him back to health again. 
From works like these we ne'er refrain. 
And when our great dictator, God, 
Bids brother Knight pass 'neath the rod 

And enter that grand lodge on high 

That lodge supreme, above the sky — 

We fold his hands upon his breast. 

And when his corpse with prayer we've blest, 

We give him cortege to the grave 



164 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And there with tears his dust we lave. 
And flowers strew upon his bier. 
I speak this, of our Order here. 



A FRAGMENT. 



Let angels that hover around us in air 

Keeping record of joys that bloom in the heart, 
Proclaim from their tablets the dearest joy there, 

And in whispers of spirit we'll hear them impart ; 
That it is the sweet pleasure when exiles wc roam 

Of knowing that loved ones remember us still — 
And that dear ones we've left behind us at home 

Have thoughts of ourselves their memories to fill. 




HUMOR 



AND 



DIALECT. 



1 66 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

I THINK I THUNK A LIE. 



I used to think when I was young, 

And my heart was free from guile. 
That there was grief in every tear 

And joy in every smile ; 
That friendship was not all a cheat 

And love could never die, 
But thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a He. 

I used to think about myself, 

And think that I would be 
A governor or a president, 

Or a general like Lee ; 
But I have waited long in vain, 

Whilst years rolled slowly by, 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think the ladies were 

All sweetnesses combined, 
That they were all God's last and best 

Of perfectness refined ; 
That they were not half pads and painty 

But angels from on high, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The preachers, too, I u.sed to think. 
Were not like other men, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 6/ 

And were not tempted of the flesh, 

And could not, therefore, sin ; 
But since I've traveled round a bit 

I've watched them on the sly, 
And, thinking- now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The honest tiller of the soil. 

When marketing his crop, 
Takes pains to put the ripe and best 

Always upon the top ; 
I used to think those honest men 

Would never cheat nor try, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk. 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The editors, a lordly set, 

Who live on milk and honey. 
They've nothing else on earth to do 

But write and rake in money ; 
Leastwise, that way I used to think, 

But now it makes me cry, 
To think about the way I thunk. 

And how I thunk a lie. 

What noble men the doctors are, 

I used to think they came 
From Heaven or some heavenly land 

And worked for love or fame ; 
That they could cure all human ills, 

And never let us die. 



1 68 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

But, thinking now of what I thunk, 
I think I thunk a lie. 

The lawyers, too, I used to think, 

Oh, God, forgive the thought, 
That their convictions of the right 

Could not by knaves be bought ; 
That they would not a client rob, 

Or "sell " him on the sly, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The dry-goods men were honest, too, 

They'd swear they sold at cost, 
I used to think they told the truth. 

And all their profits lost ; 
I thought a yard was full three feet, 

Don't ask my reasons why, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

The hotel clerk, I used to think. 

Would try to be polite. 
Would answer questions put to him, 

And treat a stranger right; 
And rather than he'd play the ass 

That he would sooner die, 
Ikit, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 69 

The democrats, I used to think, 

It once they got the floor 
Would turn the dirty rascals out, 

And kick 'em from the door ; 
That they would stop the tariff steal 

That piles the surplus high, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

And then I thought that Harrison, 

Who took old Grover's shoes, 
Would have the backbone and the grit 

To give us all our dues ; 
But tariff laws and pension frauds 

Still make the nation sigh. 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think elections were 

The public will to voice, 
And not a thimble-rigging game 

To give the cliques their choice ; 
That patriotism played its part, 

Tho' stills were never dry, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think that public schools. 

Would fill a long-lelt need, 
By teaching all our boys and girls 

How to write, spell and read ; 



170 FOIBLES OF FANCY AM) 

But red tape and their rottenness 

Is everywhere the cry, 
And, when I think of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a He. 

The niggers, too, I used to think, 

If once they were set free, 
Would make good, honest citizens. 

Like white folks used to be ; 
But they have wandered far from grace, 

The chickens still roost high, 
And, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

I used to think the town police. 

With all its blue and brass. 
Would never sleep upon his post, 

Nor let a criminal pass ; 
That on *' blind tigers " they would keep 

An ever watchful eye, 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 

Our prison house, I used to think, 

A model kind of jail, 
That they who'd try its walls to break 

Would most assuredly fail ; 
That guardsmen there to duty sworn 

Would ne'er let prisoner fly. 
But, thinking now of what I thunk, 

I think I thunk a lie. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I/I 

I used to think the poor Chinee 

Was worse than '' MeHcan man," 
That we should missionaries send 

With civiHzation's plan ; 
But thinking now of late events 

Beneath our Southern sky, 
I rather think that what I thunk 

Was **wusser" than a lie. 



SERMON BY UNCLE MOSE. 

No. 1. 



My belubbed cuUud brudders, 

Havin' Icf at home my specks, 
I'll hav ter ax yer pardin 

Fer not readin' ob my tex ; 
But yer'll fine de inspirasion 

Ob what I has ter say 
In de pistle ob de postle 

To de church in Africa. 

De language arr explicit, 

An' dis is what it am : 
Er man shud git er hustle on 

An' be not like er clam. 
So please ter give attention, 

An' try ter keep erwake 



1/2 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Whilse I de applicasion 

Will now attempt ter make. 

Now de fust ting I must tell yer, 

An* I gits it from my tex, 
Er clam's no good for dis yer worl', 

Nor fitten for de nex ; 
He's er lazy, stupid creetur — 

Yes, dats jess what he am — 
An' er man shud git er hustle on. 

An' be not like er clam. 

Now ter hustle am ter rustle. 

An' ter rustle means ter work ; 
So w'en yer's got er job ter do 

Yer shudn't orter shirk. 
But lay rite hole wid hones' lick 

As hard as yer can lam, 
Fer a man shud git er hustle on, 

An' be not like er clam. 

All yer jinin' ob societies, 

An' marchin' roun' wid flags, 
Ain't at all er gwinter help yer 

Keep yer familys outer rags, 
Fer behine yer grips an' signuls, 

Yer flip-flops an' flim-flams, 
Dere's some hustler after nickels 

In de pockets ob de clams. 

An' dis talk erbout dem pawn shops, 
De new sub-treasury scheme, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 73 

Is er snare an' er delusion 

An' er empty-headed dream, 
An' yer'U fine when yer hab waited, 

Dats its but er trickster's sham ; 
So ycr wants ter git er hustle on, 

An' be not like a clam. 

When de wily politician 

Comes er roun' ter get yer vote, 
An' vites yer ter de barbicue , 

To eat de roasted shote ; 
When he puts his arms er roun' yer 

An' begs yer take er dram, 
Yer had better git er hustle on. 

An' be not like er clam. 

Fer as sho as I'se er preachin' 

When de 'lection day is pass, 
An' dat politician's 'lected, 

An' yer craps are in de grass, 
He will scorn yer an' will spurn yer, 

Fer de fool he kno's yer am, 
An' yer'U wish yer'd kept er hustlin* 

An' been not like er clam. 

Er word now in conclusion. 

While we pass er roun' de hat, 
Yer wants ter git er hustle on 

When we shall cum ter dat. 
Let some one grine de organ 

An' start us up er psalm — 
Please, brudders, git er hustle on. 

An' be not like er clam. 



174 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

SERMON BY UNCLE MOSE. 
No. 2. 



My belubbed cullud brudders, 

Ise gwine ter preach ter day, 
An' I hopes ter hab attention 

Ter what Ise gwine ter say. 
I know dere's room for provement 

In ebery sinner's hart, 
An' my reason fur so thinkin' 

I will now ter you impart. 

First, de selfishness of nater 

Keeps de hart from gitten clean ; 
It blinds de eyes of conscience 

An' makes us over-mean ; 
It puts er man ter thinkin' 

Dat he's better dan de best, 
An' like a tyrant robber, 

Drives the goodness from his breast. 

An' den dere is er kind er pride 

Dat steals into de brain 
An' robs er man of reason 

An' makes him weak an' vain ; 
An' when cr man has got it, 

He is saddled mity well, 
Fur de debil den ter mount him 

An' ter ride him inter hell. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I75 

Den dere's anudder passion 

An' de Scripter calls it lust, 
An' if any o' you's got it 

You is hardly fit ter trust. 
'Tis de pizen ob er sarpint, 

So polutin ter de soul, 
Dat de meanness ob its venom 

De debil would extole. 

An' den de sin ob appetite. 

Since ob dat I cum ter think, 
It's de bebil's own invension 

When it leads er man ter drink ; 
It destroys all his conscience, 

Puts er blind upon his eyes 
An' empties him ob character. 

An' fills him up wid lies. 

A word now in conclusion 

Ob what Ise had ter say, 
A preacher cannot lib on wind. 

He orter hab his pay. 
So while you hunt yer nickles 

An' we pass eround de hat, 
Please see dey isn't counterfits. 

Be sho you look ter dat. 



176 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

SPEECH OF UNCLE MOSE. 



My fren's and culled citizens, 

I'm er gwine ter make er speech. 
And I wants ter hab de 'tention 

Ob all in hearin' reach. 
My words are nuts o' wizdum, 

Shucked clean ob all de hulls, 
And I hope dey'll find a lodgement 

In de hollers ob yer skulls. 

Dis am de white man's country, 

And dat nigger am er fool 
Who thinks de white folks gwinter 

Low de culled folks ter rule ; 
For de Massachusetts Yankee 

An' de Southern democrat 
Am united same as brudders 

On de politix ob dat. 

You may shout yerselves plum outer brefif. 

And cut yer bigest figers, 
A whoopin' fer dem candidates 

Who say dey love de niggers ; 
But you write it down wid charcoal 

And jes keep it fer er rule, 
You'll never gain by politix 

Forty acres and er mule. 

When Marsc Lincun gave us freedom, 
'Twant no freedom fur ter steal, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1/7 

But to earn an hones' libbin 

By a grubbin' in de fiel', 
And when dat proclamation 

Ole hones' Abram wrote 
He neber thought a nigger 

Would git rich upon his vote. 

And now I wants ter 'vise yer, 

While a talkin' on dat line, 
You better quit yo politix 

And de granger's party jine ; 
Den you can eat yer chickens, 

'Thout ketchin' 'em at night, 
And when yer see a p'hceman 

Won't be tremblin' at de sight. 

A word now in conclusion. 

To you upper crusty coons, 
Wid yo fancy walkin' canes 

And yer striped pantaloons ; 
You better git yerselves ter work, 

And stop yo braggin' sass, 
'Fore some white man's cungeration 

Lays you out below de grass. 



12 



178 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

SHAMS AND SHACKS. 



Mankind is not just what it seems, 
This world is half made up of shams, 

Some men as silent sages pose 

Who are at best but stupid clams. 

Some babbling tongues are never still, 
Misquoting thoughts of wiser men, 

And in their self esteem suppose 

That they are what they've never been. 

Some noble hearts as ever beat 

Pulsate in breasts of rugged mould. 

Whilst broadcloth often wraps the knave 
Whose sins and crimes are never told. 

Some glorious poets live and die, 

And ne'er to wealth or fame are known, 

Whilst fools are flattered to the sky 
For genius that was not their own. 

Yes, more than half mankind are fools, 
Hence knaves and fools find easy sailing, 

To hug a sham and be humbugged 
Is with the mass a common failing. 

I've known a rum-besotted quack, 
High in the healing arts to pass. 

Whose intellect was scarce above 
The instincts of a stupid ass. 



. RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 79 

And oft a tailless ape we see 

Whose only brain is brazen cheek, 

High-seated on judicial bench 

To judge the fools who justice seek. 

And sometimes, too, in sacred desk 
A wolf we find in sheep's attire, 

Too cowardly to preach the truth, 
But preaching hell without a fire. 

And so it goes throughout the world. 

Hypocrisy is ruling still, 
A man is boosted going up. 

And kicked when coming down the hill. 

Angelic woman, sweet and pure, 
When wedded to a worthless clown. 

By gravity of social laws. 

Are to his level anchored down. 

But sometimes wilful, wicked wives, 

Make noblest husbands hump and hustle, 

And he's a fool who thinks to find 
An angel wrapped with every bustle. 




l80 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



HURRAH FOR THE ROAD! 



'' Good news for Rome," the head-lines sed 
And then four columns follered, 

Which, after which when I had read, 
I jist stood up and hollered. 

Three cheers, sed I, for that great man 

Who allers holds his tung, 
And never blows erbout er plan 

Till success ter it is brung. 

One man like him, I'll tell yer what, 

Is wuth his weight in gole ; 
The kind of good, hoss sense he's got 

Is the simmon reaching pole. 

He bleves in action more than blab. 
And he's got that kind of grit 

That makes the croker hush his gab, 
And hustlers git up and git. 

Then here's to Williamson, three cheers)! 

Let his praise the welkin ring ; 
A friend to Rome he has no peers, 

Long live the Raih'oad King! 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. l8l 

PEPPER SAUCE, 



Times now ain't like they used to be, 
There's change in every thing ; 

Even the dollars of our daddies 
Have lost their old-time ring. 

Our sugar now is mixed with sand, 

Of paper shoes are made ; 
There's fraud in measures and in weights, 

In every line of trade. 

The farmer used to own his land 

And lived on all the best. 
But now the merchant owns the farm 

With its smoke-house in the West. 

No mortgage clause was on the notes 
Which our daddies used to pay. 

But now they bind up everything, 
From crops to dinner tray. 

We used to have good, honest laws — 

Laws made for honest men, 
But now our code's so full of flaws 

It's hardly worth a pin. 

Few honest statesman can we find. 

The demagogue now rules. 
And everywhere in halls of state 

We meet with knaves and fools. 



1 82 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

With homestead laws they've gulled the poor. 
And exemption statutes framed, 

'Till thievery they've legalized, 
And justice made ashamed. 

The honest poor man's credit's gone, 

His word ain't worth a mote, 
And now to get his wife a shroud 

He must sign a mortgage note. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 83 

THE GUITAR. 



I 'member way back long ago, 

Fore de Yankees sot us free, 
A nigger wid an old banjo 

Was happy as can be ; 
But looking back to dem ole times, 

Way back befo' de war. 
I wonder how dem niggers did 

Widout a light guitar. 

Wid rattle bones and ole banjo 

Dey used to play and sing, 
And dance befo' de cabin do. 

An cut de pigeon wing ; 
But dem ole days am pass and gone, 

De banjo ain't nowhar; 
De niggers now mus' put on airs 

And pick de light guitar, 

Dese am de halleluja times, 

Our work am turned to play ; 
We ain't got nufifin else to do 

But frolic night and day ; 
Our corn-field hands are turned to dudes, 

De wash-women ''ladies" are, 
De banjo it am laid aside. 

While we pick de light guitar. 

Each nigger in de barber shop. 
And eber}^ hotel coon 



184 FOIBLES OF FANCV AND 

Is trumming on de light guitar, 
An' trying to play er tune ; 

But by and by dem kinkey heads 
Will be hustled on de kyars 

And bundled off to Mexico, 
Along wid dere guitars. 

For white folks now am gitten tired 

Ob sich hyfalutin' style, 
An' when dere patience gits threadbare 

Dere blood am gwine ter bile ; 
An if dem kinkey-headed coons 

Keeps on wid sich fool airs, 
Dey'l Ian' in h — 1 or Mexico, 

Erlong wid dere guitars. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 85 

THE DUDE. 



There's a fellow in this city, 

I guess you know him well, 
But if not 'tis no pity. 

For he's but a fancy swell, 
Who only lives for pleasure, 

A life of ease and rest. 
And of all his mammy's children, 

He loves himself the best. 

You'll find him at the races. 

The party and soiree, 
And in the ladies' faces 

He fondly looks to see 
A smiling recognition 

Of his form so finely drest, 
For of all his mammy's children, 

He loves himself the best. 

He drives the finest horses 

And dances with much grace. 
Tho' in his weazen features 

The monkey you can trace. 
He's a four-ply base ball critic, 

At billiards plays with zest, 
And of all his mammy's children. 

He loves himself the best. 

But at the ball and picnic 
This la da da young dude 



1 86 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Gets in his finest antics, 
His monkey actions rude ; 

A crank he is on waltzing 
With a dudine on his breast, 

For of all his mammy's children, 
He loves himself the best. 

I guess the God who made him 

Must have made him for a cause, 
But really I'm too shallow 

To imagine what it was ; 
His head I know is empty, 

No virtue fills his breast, 
But of all his mammy's children, 

He loves himself the best. 




RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 8/ 

COURAGE AND AMBITION. 



Ef I wus but er tadpole — 
Er tadpole weak and frail — 

I wud strive ter be a frog, 
Do I neber shed my tail. 

An' befo' I'd be er clam, 
AUers shet up outer sight, 

I wud bust my shell ersunder, 
Do I perished in de light. 

Yes, I rudder be er flyin' squerel, 

Ter fly er while an' fall, 
Dan be er lazy tarepin 

An' do nothin' else but crawl. 

An' ef I wusn't bigger 

Dan er little yaller ant 
I wud exercise er courage 

Equel tu de elephant ; 

Fer I hold dat it is noble. 

An' ercordin' ter God's plan, 

Dat man in ebery station 
Shud prove hissef er man. 

Dat de only true nobility 
Is by hones' labor wrought, 

An' er crown dat's wuf de wearin' 
Is by mortal neber bought. 



1 88 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

An' I can't help hate er croaker, 
Wid his weak an' watery eyes 

Allers turned towards de groun', 
Neber raised toward de skies ; 

Who goes erbout complainin' 
An' bemoanin' ob his fate, 

Because he is er ninny 
Instid ob sumpin' great ; 

Who neber makes an effort 
Ter reach er noble hight. 

But hides his ebery talent 
In his bosom outer sight. 

An' bows in weak submission. 

Like er cringin' yaller houn', 
An' licks de hand uplifted 

Ter strike him ter de groun'. 

But I glory in de courage 
My convictions ter assert, 

An' I'll strive ter be er man 
Do I'sc but made ob dirt. 

Fer I no de soul widin me 
Is er libin' part ob God, 

An' will lib in spheres eternal 

When my form has turned ter sod. 

An' as I lub ter honor 

Dat God, who in His plan, 

Made mc in His image. 
I will strive ter be er man. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 1 89 

DON'T IT SORTER LOOK THAT WAY? 



When you see a fancy feller 

Loafing 'round upon the streets, 
Allers smoking cigarettes, 

And hobnobin' with dead beats ; 
While his mother does his washing, 

For which he doesn't pay ; 
You would take him for a dude — 

Don't it sorter look that way ? 

An' when he gets ter fishin' 

Or keeps a pinter dog, 
He can tell er lie as easy 

As fallen off a log ; 
Or if he doesn't fabricate 

His imagination's play 
Er 'mounts ter 'bout the same — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

And when you go to meetin'. 

An' set down in er pew, 
An' er gal with monster hat 

Shuts the preacher out from view, 
Don't you feel more like cussin' 

Than you do to kneel and pray ; 
Now railly, if you don't. 

Don't you sorter feel that way ? 

An* when 'lection time's approachin'. 
An' er feller comes er round 



190 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Er bowin' an' er scrapin', 
An' er talkin' so profoun' — 

Uv the '' conflics of opinion," 
An' *'the crisis uv the day," 

He's er hankerin' fur office — 
Don't it sorter look that way ? 

An' I needn't ter remind you 

That the time has got here when 
The finances uv er man 

Hides er mighty heap o' sin ; 
For if he's got the ducats 

He can kill and he can slay, 
An' the jury will excuse him — 

Don't it sorter look that way ? 

But should you hear a lawyer 

Runnin' other lawyers down, 
An' er wearin' of er swagger. 

As if he run the town ; 
You may bet your bottom dollar, 

He's a jackleg every way, 
Or er petifogin' shyster — 

Don't it sorter look that way? 

An' when you hear a feller, 
As yer can most any time, 

Abusin' some po' doctor, 
An' accusin' him of crime. 

You may swar he owes fur physic 
An' don't intend ter pay. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. Ipl 

For it allers seems ter happen 
That it's sorter that er way. 

And the man that reads er paper 

Fur er year er even more, 
An' writes ter stop its comin' 

'Thout setthn' up his score, 
He's er dead beat an' er scoundrel 

Who means ter beat his way, 
An' the devil's gwine ter get him, 

Don't it sorter look that way ? 



THE GIRLS OF SILVER CREEK. 



** Poeta nascitur non fit," 

Some ancient sage or bard has writ, 

But I was not a poet born, 

Or if I was, I've spoilt the horn; 

At least I'm no poetic spoon. 

Or if I am, was pulled too soon ; 

Nor have I climbed Parnassus' Mount, 

Or drunk from Helicon's sweet fount ; 

Nor do I woo the sacred nine 

To aid me in this task of mine. 

Nor need I the Pegasus' jade, 

For theme like mine should claim no aid. 

I need no Latin, French or Greek 



192 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

To praise the girls of Silver Creek. 

Their charms alone my pen inspire 

And lifts me from prosaic mire, 

That I must tread when praising men, 

Or telling facts " that might have been," 

I'll drink not e'en the ruby wine 

To wake within me thoughts divine ; 

But trusting naught for inspiration, 

I'll write as suits my inclination. 

Let critics mouthe and criticise, 

'Tis critics that I most despise. 

Fools find it easier faults to find 

Than their own business ends to mind : 

But hang it all ! this long prelude 

Is wasting time and does no good. 

So, girls, here goes, know I'm your friend, 

I hope to please and not offend. 

The first of whom I'll sing is Matt, 

She's full of fun and awful fat ; 

Where'er she goes it's **get out sadness," 

Make room for fun, good will and gladness. 

She's a sugar lump of sweetest joys, 

And weighs two hundred avoirdupois. 

The next is Georgia, her fair sister, 

A kiss from whom would raise a blister ; 

She's neat and tidy as a pin. 

And has a heart that knows no sin. 

That she's a beauty, bet your life, 

And would make a man a noble wife. 

And there is Annie — she's a daisy, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I93 

Enough to run a lover crazy. 

She's young and gentle, sweet and tender, 

A lovely blonde, graceful, slender ; 

Her lips with ripe twin cherries vie, 

And roses bow when she goes by. 

Then Jennie R. , the little fairy, 

Bashful, timid, and so wary ; 

To flatter her was just as silly 

As trying to paint the fairest lily. 

But what shall I of Julia say? 

Would I a worthy tribute pay 

To her kind heart and gen'rous soul, 

I'd need the Heavens for a scroll. 

On less of space I could not find 

Room to praise her heart so kind ; 

But so much space can't be her meed. 

The will is given for the deed. 

And now the next is Etta's name. 

To wake my soul's poetic flame ; 

And as I clasp my willing pen, 

To praise this fairy of the glen. 

My thoughts run wild, my heart beats high. 

But to flatter her I need not try ; 

Her charms no pen can panegyrize. 

But he who wins her wins a prize. 

And then there's Ida, whom we miss. 

To have her back would give us bliss. 

There 're many hearts will sigh and ache 

' rill she returns, for her sweet sake. 

13 



194 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Nor Lizzie B. will I omit, 

When praising beauty, worth and wit ; 

For those are graces all her own, 

And thousands more I can't make known. 

Nor would I here Miss Lula slight, 

For slighting her would not be right. 

She's full of goodness, pluck and grit, 

And knows the rule, "git up and git." 

I cannot praise her worth too much. 

The world were better for more just such — 

But like the dessert after dinner, 

As sure as I'm an honest sinner, 

I've left the best to be the last, 

In winding up my rhyme's repast. 

'Tis Emma W., she's a whizzer, 

A thousand boys would like to squeeze her, 

For she's so plump, so sweet and fair, 

Tom I n sighs to be a bear. 

But Tom, old boy, you need not sigh, 
The best of grapes are always high ; 
The sweetest sugar's in hard lumps, 
And queens are caught by bigger trumps ; 
So .sail in Tom, with all the rest, 
For he who wins is more than blest. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I95 

A SPRING CANT-OH. 



I do not claim to be a saint, 

Filled with amazing grace, 
Nor boast of sanctifying love 

For all the human race : 
But like most other mortals be 

That's born for wearing pants, 
I am full to overflowing 

With a great many can'ts. 

I can't help feeling when I sit 

In the temple of the Lord 
And listen to a preacher's tongue, 

Whose every studied word 
Is meant to gain a compliment 

From some dudine in her pew, 
That he's a sorter hypocrit ; 

I can't, oh, can you ? 

And when I pay my dollar cash 

For a seat in the parquet. 
And go with great anxiety 

To hear and see the play. 
And have to sit behind a hat 

That hides the stage from view, 
I can't help feeling cross as sin ; 

I can't, oh, can you? 

And when I hear a fellow pray, 
" Lord let thy kingdom come," 



196 FOIBLES OF FANXY AND 

And see him straightway cast his vote 
For the Hcensed sale of rum, 

I guess he means just what he prays 
And votes to prove it true, 

But somehow I can't see the point; 
I can't, oh, can you? 

And when I'm told the human race 

Is all from Adam's seed. 
That kinkey-headed coons and I 

Are from one common breed, 
I think that apes and darn baboons 

Must be my brothers too; 
But then I can't believe the tale; 

I can't, oh, can you ? 

'Tis said that wicked Birmingham 

Is not a friend to grace ; 
That every dweller in its bounds 

Is heading for that place 
Where water works are never known 

And ice supplies are scant ; 
But I don't think it's wholly true, 

I can't, oh, I can't. 

I'm also told that demagogues 

Have caught the hayseed vote ; 
Are piloting and steering, too, 

The new Alliance boat ; 
That they are going to take the earth 

And everything in view, 
But I don't hardly think they will ; 

I can't, oh, can you ? 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I97 

UNCLE MOSE ON THE PRODIGAL'S 
RETURN. 



I don't go much on brag an' blow, 

An' all dat kind er stuff, 
But w'en it comes tcr w'at I no 

I gess I noes enuff, 
I'se read de Bible tru an' tru, 

An' Watson's com.montater, 
An' w'at I hasen't got from books 

I'se learned frum common nater. 

I'se read er heap er books on law — 

On fisic quite er number. 
But de Bible am de book ob books- 

I'll tell yer it's er hummer. 
It tells erbout ole Prodigal 

An' his two grown-up boys, 
Who uster run er cattle ranch 

Way up in Illinoise. 

Now dat ole granger. Prodigal, 

Had ways a little quar, 
But w'en it cum ter business. 

He was allers far an' squar. 
He neber took ter politics, 

Nor seemed to keer er cent 
Who was 'lected Governor, 

Nor who was President. 



198 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

He tended strictly tu his ranch, 

An' raised er sight er stock ; 
He was er hard-shell in belief — 

His hed was like er rock. 
His younges' son wan't bilt dat way^ 

He was lazy like an' rude ; 
He wudn't plow nor mind de stock,. 

But wanted to be er dude. 

So one day w'en he met his dad, 
Way down beside de branch. 

He said: "Ole dad, I wanter cash 
My interest in de ranch. 

In mind I'se made up w'at I'll do, 
I'll tell yer now my plan — 

I'm gwine erway ter some big town 
An' make myself er man." 

De old man stood er while, den said ; 

" I think I see yer game; 
Like dat ole sockless Kansas chap, 

Yer wants ter win er name. 
Well, yer shall hab in solid cash 

Yer hones', riteful share 
Ob all de Ian', de cows an' sheep. 

An' ebry thing dats here." 

An* so de ole man went ter town 
An' drawed out from de bank 

Enough of gold and silver coin 
Ter fill er water tank. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. I99 

An' fotch it home in leather bags, 

An' giv it ter dat boy, 
Who almost cut de pigeon wing, 

He was so full ob joy. 

Well, dat smart Alec wid his cash 

Lit out upon de kyars 
Ter try his luck in Chicago, 

Ermong de buils and bars. 
He bought er place in de exchange, 

An' went it strong on wheat. 
And what he lost he tried ergin 

Ter make it up on meat. 

On cotton nex' he posted up 

Ter give dat game er whack, 
Hopin' dat he'd make er deal 

An' win his losses back. 
But fortune didn't seem ter smile 

Upon him wuth er cent, 
An' every dollar dat he had 

Ter kiver margins went. 

His watch an' chain he nex' put up 

Ter raise er final stake, 
But lost it on three card monte, 

Played by er circus fake. 
Now busted flat as he cud be, 

Widout er single nick. 
He had ter ax his boadin' miss 

Ter let him run on tick 



200 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

But w'en a man is outer cash, 

He's sho' ter loose his smile, 
An' soon his boardin' miss foun' out 

Dat he had drapt his pile ; 
An' den she bounced him out ob doors, 

Ter loaf upon de street, 
An' nex' de free lunch counter man 

Jist bounced him fer er beat. 

Ter steer ergin' de vagrant law, 

An' not git floated in, 
Was mo' den he cud hope ter do, 

Widout er home or fren' ; 
An' so he hid hissef all day, 

Till it was gettin dusk, 
Den slipt out ter de slaughter pen 

An' filled hissef on husk. 

But second table after hogs 

Was not sich sumpshus fare 
As dat young chap cud git at home, 

If he was only dere. 
An' so he, talkin' to hissef, 

Said, '* I will jist be durn, 
Even do I have ter hop cross-ties, 

I'll tu my dad return." 

An' so he straightway hit de grit — 
Jist lit out fer his home — 

An' 'twasn't many days before 
In sight he'd fairly come. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 201 

De ole man, lookin' down de road, 

His wanderin' son espied, 
Den run an' fell upon his neck, 

An' sobbed an' blubbering, cried. 

Den takin' him inter de house 

Give him his Sunday cote. 
His bran new boots an' dimon' ring, 

An' dressed him like er spote. 
Fine invitations by him sent 

All roun' de country flew, 
Invitin' all his frens ter cum 

Out ter er barbicue. 

He sent out fer his oberseer, 

An' bid him quickly kill 
De fattes' ox upon de ranch, 

His sons an' frens ter fill. 
He sed he didn't keer er cent 

For w'at de worl' might say, 
He felt so glad ter see his son 

He'd celebrate de day. 

His udder boy w'at stayed at home — 

Young Elder was his name — 
Heerd of de racket goin' on 

An' lowed dat he'd be blame 
If he was gwinter stan' sich biz — 

It wasn't far nor squar; 
Dat he was jist as good as him, 

If he hadn't been no whar. 



202 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

But w'en de niggers tole old Prod 

Wat Elder had ter s:y 
He lef de crowd up at de house 

An' hurried right erway 
Down to de barn whar Elder was, 

An' ter dat youngster sed : 
'* Yer brudder is erlive at home, 

Aldo we thought him ded." 

An' den he went on wid er yarn 

'Bout havin' pleasure most 
Ober one old ram dats foun' 

Dan ninety-nine not lost, 
An' tried ter taffy up his son 

Wid chestnut tales like dis, 
Dat while he stayed at home an' worked 

Dat ebry ting was his. 

But Elder was as mad as sheol, 

An' told his daddy plain 
He wasn't satisfied er bit; 

Dat he troo sun an' rain 
Had stayed at home and done de work 

De whole long summer troo 
An' neber eben got er goat, 

Much less er barbicue. 

De moral now ter dis yer tale 

Ter me is berry plain ; 
Ole Prod ought not ter bin so glad 

Ter sec tlat boy ergain, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 203 

Fer as he neber was no good, 

But allers breedin' harm, 
He ought not ter hab been er lowed 

Ter come back on dat farm. 



SPEECH OF UNCLE MOSE ON INDEPEND- 
ENCE DAY. 



My frens and cuHud citizens, 

Wese ersembled here dis morn 
To celebrate de 'casion 

Wen liberty wus born ; 
Wen de young ermerican eagle 

Fust busted fum his shell, 
An' give er whoop fer liberty — 

Er reg'lar rebel yell. 

Dat wus de grandess 'casion 

Dat eber bless'd de yearth, 
An' nations wus astounded 

At de glory ob its birth, 
Fer neber in de history 

Ob all de ages past 
Wus eber such er nation 

Fum de molds ob wisdom cast. 



:?04 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

An' I tell yer, feller- citizens, 

It makes my busom swell 
Wid proudness w'en I read erbout 

Or hear dem speakers tell 
Ob how dat unfledg-'d eagle 

Girded on de belt ob right 
An' challeng'd Englan's lion 

Ter cum out an' hab er fight. 

So strong had grown dat bludy beast, 

So puft'd up an' so gran', 
He thought hissef de champion 

Ob all de seas an' Ian'. 
Wid scorn he heard an' look'd upon 

Dat yankee bird so small. 
An' swore dat he wud chaw him up — 

Meat, fedders, bones, an' all. 

But dat new hatch'd-out yankee bird, 

So seeming small and weak, 
Wus hatch'd wid claws as sharp as steel 

An' wid er hole-fas' beak ; 
His eyes wus full of lightnin' fire, 

His gizzard full ob grit. 
An* like young David wid de sling, 

He noed jess whar ter hit. 

An', too, our Uncle Sam was dere 

Ter back dat eagle game, 
Vet well he knew he cum fum stock 

Dat tyrants cud not tame ; 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 205 

An' quickly kiverin' ebry bet 

Dat ole John Bull put down, 
He cried w'en dat ole bluff refused 

Ter bet his throne an' crown. 

But not because he had er use 

Fer eny such ole plunder, 
He only wished to win de stuff 

Den kick it in ter thunder, 
Dat ebry Englishman might see 

He did not care er snap 
Fer dere ole royal, high-back chair, 

Nor ole carbuncl'd cap. 

At las', in ole Virginia, 

Dey begun de scrappin' match 
While Injuns stood eround an' yell'd 

Ter see 'em bite and scratch. 
Roun' after roun' dey fit an' claw'd, 

Returnin' lick fer lick. 
An' Englan's lion soon found out 

Dat bird wus hard ter pick. 

Dey fit all round ole Lexington, 

An' roun' Dorchester's hight. 
An' plum er cross ole Bunker's hill> 

Still strugglin' in dere might ; 
Till mad wid pain dat lion's roar 

Wus echo'd far an' wide, 
Fer ebry time he cum in reach 

Dat eagle tore his hide. 



206 FOIBLES OF FAN'CY AND 

He puU'd his mane, he twis' his tail, 

He fill'd his eyes wid san' 
Till dat ole lion got so weak 

Dat he cud barly stan' ; 
But still de eagle kep' his lick 

Nor seemed de least dismayed. 
For he was boun' dat beast ter lick 

An' lay him in de shade. 

But by an' by de sponge went up, 

Dat lion tuck'd his tail, 
An' cross'd de broad Atlantic sea 

His losses ter bewail. 
De eagle bold den spread his wing 

An' soar'd erway on high 
Ter roost ermid de circlin' stars 

An' guard us wid his eye. 

An' since de early dawn ob time, 

Wen de sky its robes unfurl'd. 
An' de great quire ob Heabenly stars 

Sung er welcom' ter de world ; 
Since de day-god in his splendor 

Fust look'd down fum on high, 
Dere has neber been er 'casion 

Like dat Fourth day ob July. 

Er word now in conckision. 

Tor yer good white folks out derc— 

Ef eny ob yer has er dime 
Dat yer kin kindly spare, 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 



207 



Er ef yer chance ter hab at home 
Sum good ole cast off close, 

Plese 'member yer ole culled fren, 
Yer hones' Uncle Mose. 




208 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

A PLEA TO MAYOR LANE. 



Please, Mister Lane, do hear my plea 

And grant alleviation, 
I'm almost dead, my nerves unstrung,. 

My soul's in desperation ; 
I've got the spancue and jimjams, 

My brain is worn to pieces 
By that infernal hurdy-gurdy 

Whose grinding never ceases. 

From early morn till late at night 

That cruel fiend's persistence 
In grinding doleful measures out, 

Makes life unworth existence. 
I cannot think, I cannot work, 

I scarce can get my breath ; 
Do dynamite the blasted thing 

Before it proves my death. 

Yes, Mister Mayor, heed my woe 

And banish, by your orders, 
That curse-provoking, damned machine. 

Beyond earth's outer borders, 
Don't let it drive me on to drink 

To drown my wild despair, 
J^ut choke it off and smash its lungs; 

Oh, hear and grant my prayer. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 2O9 

TRUTHFUL BOLER'S NARROW ESCAPE. 



You may talk of Georgia cyclones, 

Of Alerbamer rains — 
'Bout yer South Car'liny earthquakes, 

Or Georgy harricanes ; 
But it's only we who've traveled 

Over the plains out west 
Have ever seed th' elements 

Jest fairly do their best. 

As for what you call yer cyclones 

Or harricanes yer've had, 
Which brush away a town or two, 

**An' which you think so bad, 
If compared to western blizzards 

In works of wreck and death, 
Why, they're no more like cyclones 

Than is a baby's breath. 

Of course, you've had some winters cold. 

Some summers kinder hot; 
But the west can more than beat yer, 

Yet never strike a trot. 
It aint no use of talkin* 

Or listenin' ter yer chumps, 
Fer when it comes ter weather 

The west has got ther trumps. 



14 



2IO FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

Yer cyclones an' yer Georgy storms, 

I honestly avow, 
If they occurred in Texas, 

They'd hardly stop a plow. 
Unless it was in springtime, 

'Long 'bout th' fust of May, 
When folks mout go er-fishing, 

Jest ter enjoy th' day. 

I've seed it git so cold out thar. 

Little as yer may think, 
That all the liquor 'd freeze so hard 

We couldn't git er drink, 
An' ter keep ourselves from freezin' 

We'd bust th' barrel's head, 
An' eat it with er knife an' fork. 

Jest like 'twas meat an' bread. 

An' then I've seen it git so hot 

That every lake an' stream 
Would fairly bile and cook th' fish. 

While rising fogs of steam 
Would float off like er mighty cloud 

An' shet the sun from sight — 
An' make the day at twelve o'clock 

As dark as at midnight. 

Now, as for storms of rain an' hail. 
You fellers couldn't dream 

Of sich er 'scape as I had once 
Wliile drivin' of er team. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 211 

A six-mule perary schooner 

Ercross er Texas plain ; 
Oh, sich er 'scape I trust ih' Lord 

I never'U have ergain. 

Er hundred miles from house or tree, 

Or shed of any kind, 
When all at once I seed er cloud, 

An' heard er roarin' wind, 
While rain began ter fall in sheets 

At least four inches thick : 
Hail, too, sot in ter comin' down 

Like walls of fallin' brick. 

Th' stones were big as cocoanuts. 

Not lighter by an ounce. 
An' as they hit yer oughter seed 

Jest how they'd thump and bounce. 
They pounded ev'ry mule ter death, 

My wagon broke ter smash. 
By time th' storm was over 

It was jest er pile of trash. 

Oh, I tell yer it was awful. 

Jest almost makes me cry ; 
What ! does any of you fellers 

S'pose I would tell er lie? 
How did I escape, you ask, 

ni tell yer all right now — 
'Twas by downright darn good dodgin' 

An' by prayin' — that's jest how. 



212 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 



A PHILLIPIC ON EXEMPTION LAWS. 



It used to be, but ain't so now, that men would pay 

their debts, 
But thinking now of that time past, I sigh with vain 

regrets. 
Protecting laws for scheming knaves, the bill-collector 

greets, 
But nowhere in our Code we find a law against 

'* dead-beats." 

Exemption laws, for knaves a shield, the demagogues 

have made. 
Which license gives to every thief who wills to ply 

his trade. 
Our honest tradesmen vainly seek in courts their 

rights to gain, 
Whilst sleek fed rascals sit and smile to see them seek 

in vain. 

Statutes of anti-garnishment, dishonest men protect, 
And every poor man's word or note our tradesmen 

must reject. 
For since all laws have been repealed for creditor's 

relief. 
We dare not credit any man lest he should prove a 

thief. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 213 

But men with millions to invest, in goods to sell on 

time, 
For poor men, spread the mortgage net and seine for 

every dime. 
And they who in their meshes caught, like sheep by 

shearers' tied, 
Are ofttimes clipped so close for wool, they lose 

both wool and hide. 

But let us all, as honest men, these thievish laws 
efface. 

They foster and encourage theft, our State they do 
disgrace. 

The poor man's credit they impair, the shylock's cof- 
fers fill. 

And all who advocate such laws, a prison cell should 
fill. 



BOOMING BIRMINGHAM. 



Now don't it beat the Juba to hear them croakers 

croak. 
They seem tu think because er bank has happened tu 

git broke 
That the day of judgment's cum with all its awful 

gloom. 



214 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

And that Birmingham and all the world is hedding 

for the tomb ; 
But I wants to tell 'em now, that in spite of all they 

say, 
That Birmingham is solid, and they'd better clear the 

way. 

The time is near approaching when things is gwine 

ter hum, 
And we'll hear a buzz of business like bees within er 

gum; 
And every cussed croaker who wants tu save his hide 
Will have ter git er hustle on or kinder stand erside, 
For I feel it in my bones and breathe it in the air. 
The clouds are gettin' lighter and the skies are gettin' 

fair. 
The threatened storm is over and things are gettin' 

bright 
And Birmingham is jest the town that's bound to 

come out right. 

For she's built upon er basis of the Giberalter kind, 
And she's gwine ter keep er goin' like er ship before 

the wind ; 
No busted bank can check her, nor nothing else can 

kill, 
Tho' she's been a little crippled by that infernal bill 
That keeps our honest merchants from collectin' of 

their debts. 
And hobbles every workman in the commissary's 

nets. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 215 

It was made to aid the shy-locks, and was helped 

erlong by fools, 
And was made intu er law by the corporation's tools. 

But, Birmingham will get thar ; she's er gettin' up 
her steam, 

Her nozzle's pinted upward on fortune's flowing 
stream, 

She's bound tu make her landing, and all who git 
aboard 

Will have a glorious passage and will reap er rich re- 
ward. 

And there's not a cussed croaker from Maine to 
Yubadam 

Who will live tu see the sinking of our booming Bir- 
mingham. 







2l6 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

KICKERS. 



Some fokes ar born fer kickin*, 
An' seem tu kick fur fun ; 

Dey'll kick er man fer standin* still, 
Den kick if he should run. 

Dey'll kick at ebrything dat's good, 
An' kick at what is bad ; 

Dey'll kick er man fer havin' fun, 
Den kick if he gits mad. 

Yer can allers find dese kickers 

At ebry place yer go, 
Yer'U find dem in de meetin' house 

An* find dem at de show. 

Dey are sometimes in de pulpit, 
An' sometimes in de pew ; 

But yer'll allers find 'em kickin' 
At ebrything yer do. 

Yer will find 'em 'bout de hotels, 
An' in de railroad trains ; 

But yer'll nebber find er kicker 
Who's oberstock'd wid brains. 

An' yer'll notice by obsarvin' 

A mighty sartin rule, 
Dat de loudest talkin' kicker 

Am de shabbiest little fool. 



RHYMES OF THE TIMES. 21/ 

An' you who's fond ob smokin' 

May put dis in yer pipe, 
Dat er kicker am er greener 

Who's seldem ober-ripe. 

Fer anything but kickin' 

An' fer actin' ob de fool, 
An' is much mo' like er donkey 

Dan er hoss is like er mule. 

An' yer cannot help concludin', 

If yer watch dese kickers right, 
Dat dey's er breed ob donkeys 

Wid er gall dat's out ob sight. 

An' yer'll also find by watchin' 

Anudder rule ter fit, 
Dat kickers am too cowardly 

Ter face er man ob grit. 

An' now befo' concludin' 

Ob what Ise had ter say, 
I wants ter tell de critics 

Jest ter bray an' kick erway. 

At anything dey may dislike 

Ob what dis book contains, 
Fer it was'nt made tu fertilize 

Dere unproductive brains. 



2l8 FOIBLES OF FANCY AND 

An' I don't care one fiddlestick 
For what dese kickers say, 

I've paid de printers for de job,. 
So let 'em kick and bray. 







?>>£ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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